


Burns Brighter

by gameboycolor, orphan_account



Series: Burns Brighter [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Avatar the Last Airbender, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameboycolor/pseuds/gameboycolor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine navigate the perils of politics and pro-bending during the early years of Republic City. Picks up 50 years after the finale of Avatar: the Last Airbender. <b><a href="http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com/post/42872344466/fic-burns-brighter-chapter-seven-complete">Reblog on Tumblr!</a></b></p><p>  <b>If you haven't seen Avatar: The Last Airbender, please click <a href="http://gameboycolor.livejournal.com/70592.html">here</a> for a series primer.</b></p><p><b>Spoilers:</b> All of Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra, and Glee to be safe.</p><p><b>Warnings:</b> Supernatural elements within the realm of the Avatar universe, descriptions of injuries, sports-related violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The product of [Katrina](http://drblaine.tumblr.com)’s hiatus insanity and [Dianna](http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com) giving in to aforementioned insanity. Enjoy! Thank you, J for all of your help.

Even though it’s only his third day on the job, Kurt’s already come to recognize slow days when they happen. Mostly, it’s evident in the set of everyone’s shoulders. Since moving from the South Pole to Republic City, everything’s moved a little bit faster, everyone’s cut to the quick — but tales of fire and war are long removed, and it’s rare for the clinic to be hit with unusual cases. Most of the time, it’s fatigue or some mundane injury.

Urban life, Kurt figures, is overrated.

“Noah Puckerman?” he asks, plucking the case file up from the counter.

Before Kurt has the time to properly assess his patient, a young man picks himself up from where he’s been sprawled over the bed, completely wrinkling the carefully tucked sheets and smearing them with what looks to be mud. With broad shoulders and dressed in shades of green, it isn’t difficult to guess the patient’s background. “It’s Puck,” the man declares with a roguish grin, eyes narrowed suspiciously after a pause. “What, you don’t recognize me? Usually you healers love treating a big time celebrity.”

Kurt arches a brow.

Puck raises a hand to his forehead, blocking off the view of his admittedly distracting stripe of hair. He offers a winsome smile, shaking his head. “Really? _Nothing?_ ”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Kurt peers evenly down at his clipboard. “It says here that you’re being seen for a burn today. Is this a work-related injury or an accident?” 

“Work. Well, if you could call it work. I’m a Dragonhawk!” 

Kurt looks Puck over from head to toe. “Yeah, not seeing the resemblance.” 

“The Republic City Dragonhawks? Best thing pro-bending has seen in a decade?” Puck grins, seemingly amused by Kurt’s inability to place him. “Where ya from, kid?” 

“The south pole,” Kurt says flatly, his pen scratching over paper. 

“Really?” It’s like the city dwellers have never seen people from the outer reaches before. So much for a united republic, Kurt thinks with a purse of his lips.

“Yes, really. Who would lie about being from the south pole?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time. People like a good story. You’ll see.” 

For a moment, Kurt bristles, but a glance over Puck’s expression shows that the athlete seems genuinely curious about Kurt’s roots. It’s not the worst encounter he’s had in the city. 

Still, Kurt hates the indication that he has a lot to learn. He isn’t exactly brand new to the city. Sure, it’s only been a few months, but he likes to think he’s settling in well enough. 

“So this is a pro-bending injury,” he notes, breaking eye contact. “Thank you for your honesty. We like to keep tally of those around here. The Council needs to be able to pull out the statistics from time to time. All you... _hooligans_ knocking each other around can’t be productive for society. They’ll prove it eventually.”

“Obviously, you’ve never seen a match. It’s exhilarating; it’s an _adventure_.” 

Thinking back to the long trek from his home to Republic City, Kurt lets out a slow exhale, shaking his head minutely. “I think I’ve seen enough adventure for a lifetime.”

“You don’t _know_ adventure until you have five discs flying at your head followed by a ball of fire. That, Water Tribe boy, is an adventure. And the girls aren’t bad either.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. So far, this guy seems to be the embodiment of every aspiring pro-bending jock he’s come across in his short time in the city. 

“Or, guys, if that’s what you’re into. My guy Blaine, well, he’s not _my_ guy, but he’s my _guy_ , you know? He swings that way. I say, who cares. More for me.”

Blaine. The name sounds familiar, but Kurt can’t quite place it. He’s heard enough of these silly matches blaring on the radio since his arrival, so he chalks it up to that.

“Why don’t we just get started?” Kurt says, leveling his gaze before Puck ends up on another lengthy tangent. The easy position that Puck falls into speaks of how often he’s probably come for healings; Kurt’s eyes easily catch the straight line of his spine, a stance not all too necessary for an arm injury, but appreciated all the same. It’s a display of respect.

Setting the clipboard back down on the counter, Kurt walks over to a basin by the side of the room, filled to the brim with water. Some healers have grown accustomed to the brand new plumbing that’s been installed in the buildings, but all in all, they leave something to be desired — the water isn’t as clean, often containing sand and grit. Dipping one hand into the water, Kurt lowers its temperature by a few degrees, eyes shutting as he feels the flow pass through his fingers.

It’s a bit traditional, but Kurt tends to think that colder water helps with the healing. It slows down, allows for more delicate work. (Wasted, likely, on a pro-bender.)

With the water gathered around his hands, Kurt steps back over to Puck’s side, hands aglow as he sets them over the worst of Puck’s injuries. Even without an honest background, it quickly becomes clear that this is no household accident; the burns are deep, narrow, drawn along the line of Puck’s arm and meant to distract and debilitate all at once. Kurt’s surprised that he hasn’t winced yet. He must be growing accustomed to this sort of thing. 

There have been a few pro-bending injuries in the clinic since Kurt joined. The teams who can’t swing the most lucrative sponsorships often don’t have their own healers. It makes a dangerous sport seem even scarier. 

Kurt figures that the Dragonhawks must be one of those teams. 

He would feel sorrier for Puck if they weren’t doing this voluntarily. 

“Water Tribe, you aren’t so bad,” Puck pipes up, breaking Kurt’s reverie once his wound’s closed over. “You know, the ‘Hawks have been going through a lot of waterbenders lately, and I think having a healer around would be cool. Wanna come show us what you’ve got? I bet you can do more with that water than heal a few scratches.” 

Kurt wants to argue that Puck’s injuries were far more serious than mere scratches, but he refrains. “No thank you,” he says shortly. “It all sounds a little too barbaric for my tastes.” 

“Well if you change your mind, we practice at Beiste’s.” 

“I won’t,” he says firmly, before adding after a pause, “but thank you.”

“Suit yourself. Thanks for the mend, Water Tribe. You’re pretty good at this stuff.” Puck bows before Kurt in parting, something that fills Kurt with a familiar feeling of home. The healers in Republic City aren’t nearly as respected as the ones in the Southern Water Tribe, especially those still in training. 

“You’re welcome,” Kurt replies, still a little stunned. 

Maybe the pro-benders aren’t the worst thing to happen to the city.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind words. We've been having a lot of fun working on this project, and we're so excited to already have the next chapter ready for you. Thank you, J, for your cheerleading.

Blaine awakens to the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window of his apartment, casting a warm and welcoming glow over the room. As much as he would love to slip deeper under the covers and sleep the morning away, he knows there’s work to be done. 

From the foot of the bed, Thomas glances up at Blaine with a bleary look, tail swishing slowly in greeting. 

“It’s alright, buddy,” Blaine says, ruffling the fur on top of the sloth cat’s head. “You can go back to sleep.” 

“Thought you’d be up,” Wes says, alerting Blaine of his presence in the open doorway. His knuckles are poised up against the door, but upon seeing Blaine awake, he didn’t bother knocking.

“I... was just, uh.” With a small grimace, Blaine rakes his fingers through his hair, slow to avoid tangles.

“Heading to practice, I know.” 

Seeing Wes’ even expression, Blaine grins, hands pressing together politely as he bows his head. “I promise I’ll read over the briefings later.”

“I know you will,” Wes smiles. 

Blaine considers himself fortunate that the very person whom his parents hired to keep an eye on him in Republic City is the same person who lets him get away with the most. Still, he tries to be cautious. Kind soul or otherwise, Wes does report to his parents at the end of the day, and while his accounts may be forgiving, he never lies.

“Will Master Thomas be accompanying you to the gym?” Continuing to hover by the doorway, Wes gives the feline a quick glance; as though aware of his presence, Thomas lets out a soft, muffled meow.

Blaine chuckles, reaching out to scratch Thomas behind his ear. “Nah, I think I’ll let him sleep.” 

-

He manages to make his way over to Beiste’s gym before the hour is out, having spent a few extra minutes enjoying breakfast with Wes. The training facility is still pretty empty at this time of day, but that’s always been part of the Dragonhawks’ strategy, keeping far from prying eyes. Beiste sits at the front desk, munching away at a possum chicken leg, but offers a smile when she notices Blaine entering.

“Mornin’, punkin,” she greets, wiping at her lips with a towel that hangs around her neck.

“Good morning, Coach Beiste,” he replies with a grin, heels clicking together as he stands straight and presses knuckles to palm in greeting. “Do you know if Puck’s up yet?”

“Surprisingly, he is,” Beiste nods, licking briefly at her thumb. “Guess he wanted to take advantage of the early hours, squeeze in a bit of extra practice. It’s a good thing, too; I might have dragged him out of bed myself if he kept on skipping the best hours.”

“You and me both.” Glancing towards the staircase up to the training levels, Blaine raises a hand with another nod. “I’ll head on up, then.”

“I might join you later myself if business is slow today. You make sure Puck doesn’t skip out early.”

Feeling warmth spread through his chest, Blaine laughs. “I will. See you later, Coach.”

Once through the doors, Blaine carefully lowers his bag of gear to the floor, gaze drawn to movement. It’s not a strange sight to see Puck hurling discs across the gym. He always stops them just short of hitting their targets; they have to conserve their training supplies whenever possible.

It _is_ strange to see a new face with him. Usually, Puck clears any potential tryouts with Blaine ahead of time. Blaine’s smile fades; he doesn’t like surprises, especially not this early in the morning.

Besides, they never know when one of these so-called tryouts might turn out to be a reporter looking to get the inside scoop on Blaine. Puck should know better, and Blaine steps briskly across the room, shoulders set. 

“Puck,” he nods, then casting a quick glance in the stranger’s direction. “I didn’t know we were going to have company today.” 

“Blaine, Water Tribe,” grins Puck, immediately falling into a relaxed stance and looking unreasonably pleased with himself. “Water Tribe, Blaine.”

“It’s Kurt, actually,” the stranger interjects, a certain hesitation in his gaze, as though holding himself at a distance. Blaine’s seen that kind of look before, particularly in the circles his parents keep with. Politicians may occasionally indulge in a pro-bending match, but no one these days seems to take the sport very seriously, especially when the Avatar himself has been too busy to attend any matches.

All the more reason to think that Kurt might be a spy.

“Either way, I’m afraid Puck didn’t mention you,” Blaine adds, casting a look in Puck’s direction; he offers a shrug in reply.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Puck turns towards a few broken discs scattered on the ground, fusing them back together and stacking them neatly by the side of the room.

“Well, I do. I wish you would have cleared this with me.”

Puck wrinkles his nose, almost jeering. “Excuse me, _Master Anderson_. How ‘bout next time I send over a messenger hawk?”

“I can go,” Kurt offers, straightening his shirt. 

“No, you’re staying.” Puck shoots Blaine a glare. “We can at least see what he’s got. Unless you have some trick up your sleeve for next Saturday, he might be the only option we have left.” 

Puck’s right. Blaine can’t argue that.

“Fine,” Blaine nods. “Let’s just get this over with.”

-

It’s pretty clear from the start that Kurt isn’t familiar with the sport. If it weren’t cutting into their hours, Blaine might even consider himself impressed with the way that Puck’s managed to design a skills test for the unfamiliar; now that he’s paying closer attention, Blaine notices targets set up all around the gym, sand bags carefully stacked and painted with faces resting atop discs that Puck bends around the room to mimic human movement. He has three of them moving around, and from where Blaine stands in the corner, he has to wonder how long the two of them have been at it.

They seem pretty friendly.

Just as he’s grown accustomed to the sight of Kurt water whipping the targets from a distance, Puck changes things up by adding another disc, hurling it in a wide arc, spinning towards Kurt. Sometimes it’s easy to forget just how powerful Puck is in the ring, but this time, Blaine finds himself focusing on Kurt’s speed and grace in evading the disc, a wall of water drawn high and quickly frozen in time for earth to meet ice with a resounding _crack_.

Blaine hates to admit it, but Kurt has the kind of raw, natural talent their team hasn’t seen in a long time. He’s good, but not so good that they’ll have to worry about other teams poaching him just yet. Fire and earthbenders are a dime a dozen in the city, but benders immigrating from the insular Water Tribes are rarer by comparison. For this reason, a good waterbender has their pick of teams. 

The Dragonhawks usually aren’t high on the list. 

-

“This doesn’t seem so hard,” Kurt says as they’re leaving the gym. 

“Wait until your first match, then tell me how easy you think it is.” With his kind of attitude, Blaine won’t be shocked if Kurt runs out on them the first time he takes a bad fall into the water. 

“Anderson,” Kurt says thoughtfully, hiking the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “I heard Puck call you Anderson. You aren’t _that_ Anderson, are you?” 

Blaine continues staring forward, jaw set. “I hardly see how that’s any of your business. You don’t see me drilling you for your entire life story.”

“Sorry,” mutters Kurt, and even without glancing over, Blaine can already picture his frown. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

If Kurt wants conversation, Blaine can give him conversation. “Where did Puck find you, anyway?” 

“I healed his arm the other day at the clinic. Someone did quite a number on him.” 

A healer. At least he has that going for him. Blaine can’t argue that he wouldn’t be a useful addition. 

“Ah,” Blaine nods, remembering their scrimmage with Santana’s team. “Yeah, that was a rough day.” 

“I can’t say that I understand it, why you all subject yourself to this kind of violence. I never saw so many recreational injuries until I stepped foot in this city. Don’t you have better things to do?” 

Turning and drawing both of them to a stop, Blaine barely manages to keep from throwing his arms out in frustration. Instead, his hand tightens slightly by his side. However pure Kurt’s intentions may be, his attitude could definitely use some work. “Why did you even come today if you were just going to lecture us?”

“The money,” Kurt admits, chin raising almost imperceptibly. “It’s the kind of money jobs around here don’t pay.” 

Kurt’s reasoning is as common as it gets, and Blaine shakes his head. “Okay, so have you ever thought that you might not be the only one in that situation?”

“Well, yes, but clearly that’s not the case for everyone. You’re—”

“I don’t want to talk about me.” Blaine takes a step forward, then thinks better of it, stopping short. “I’m going to head back; I told Puck I’d make my decision today about letting you join the team.” He notices Kurt’s expression fall. “Don’t worry, I’ll try not to hold any of this against you.”

-

Having stopped by a food cart across the street, Blaine tosses a bag of fire flakes in Puck’s direction as soon as he enters Puck’s apartment, located a couple stories above their usual training space. Blaine digs through the bag for his lunch, then glances up in time to catch a determined expression on Puck’s face; apparently, he means business.

“My vote’s no.”

“Hello to you too,” Puck greets, toweling off his close cropped hair with a towel. “My vote’s yes. He’s a healer. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but so were you when you were starting out.” 

Beiste is their tiebreaker. Blaine has a feeling that she’s going to side with Puck. 

“I’m still not sure about him.” 

“And you think I was sure about you? You can’t think my first choice for teammate when I was putting together a proteam was the local celebrity schoolboy. You don’t think that every day I’m wondering when you’re going to cut out on me?” 

Blaine crosses his arms. “Puck, that isn’t fair.” 

“Yeah, it’s not. So again, I vote that we take Kurt on. That way, I won’t be stuck trying to build a new team by myself in a few months.” 

He could argue that Puck’s wrong, but Blaine knows that he would be lying. “Fine. But I don’t think you’re going to be his biggest fan once you hear the mouth he’s got on him.” 

“Seriously? Who do you think you’re dealing with right now?” 

“True.”

-

When Blaine trains, he visualizes himself at the edge of the platform. Every attack is the one that could knock him down into the waters below. 

He puts more hours into the gym than Puck does, but Blaine doesn’t think that makes him any better of an athlete than Puck. There’s no reprieve to be found on the way to being better, _faster_.

Sometimes, it feels like he has more to prove than anyone else in that arena. Blaine’s the first pro-bender on the circuit who had any sort of public notoriety prior to his career. People have an opinion of him before they ever see him play.

Rich boy, fooling around and biding his time until the current Councilman representing the Fire Nation steps down. Or the schoolboy, as Puck calls him, qualified to do so much more than hurl attacks for people’s entertainment.

Blaine doesn’t consider himself either of these things. Truth be told, he isn’t sure what he wants to be, hasn’t had the time to figure that out between being pushed and pulled in all directions. Molded to fill a particular role.

The fire jets out from the center of his palm, propelling a leap back to the center of his mind’s ring, every last moment of his second used to its limit as Blaine lands neatly, feet planted firmly in the ground. If nothing else, _this_ is sure, rules and regulations carefully constructed about him. In the ring, he knows his limits. He has a goal. There’s little greater comfort than that.

-

Wes has always had an eerie sense of timing when it comes to Blaine. Dinner is almost always on the table by the time he returns from the gym. Sometimes, Blaine wonders if Beiste alerts Wes when he finally leaves. (Which isn’t until his limbs are too sore to accomplish anything more.) 

The tea kettle whistles on the stove. Letters from home and newspaper clippings litter the table, likely in need of Blaine’s attention. Wes doesn’t press, but he gently hints. 

“How was practice?” he asks. 

Blaine tries not to think of how deep Puck’s words cut. This part of his life is temporary, no matter how hard he tries to pretend. He tries not to think of the Water Tribe boy, the one who thinks himself above it all, frustration swelling at the mere memory of his haughty, half-lidded gaze.

“Fine.”

It was easier during his early years in Republic City. Back then, it was all about sneaking into pro-matches with Puck and goofing off. His parents’ dreams for his future felt so far away. Sure, there was still press to deal with, but Blaine never let them bother him. His leap into the pro-leagues himself last year hadn’t helped matters, but Blaine argued that if anything, he made sure competition attendance was up. 

He wonders if Wes gets anything out of what is essentially a glorified babysitting job. With the same education and virtually the same upbringing as Blaine, it seems unfair that Blaine’s still seen as the unequivocal choice for their nation’s next representative.

“Glad to hear it.” Wes’ words are measured, careful and pleasant, carrying no implication of ‘glad to hear you’re working it out of your system.’ Even if he’s probably thinking it. 

Blaine’s fingers trace over one of the headlines in the paper about unrest in the city population, specifically regarding the representation of the Water Tribes. Glancing over at Wes, Blaine can’t help thinking that he’s looking at someone far better suited for explaining the diverse cultures of the separate tribes to the city. 

“Wes, you don’t mind if I take this up to my room, do you?” 

“Of course, Blaine.” 

Blaine climbs the stairs carefully, trying to balance both his plate and the stack of papers. Thomas looks up when the floorboard in front of Blaine’s bedroom creaks. 

“Keeping the bed warm, buddy?” 

Thomas lets out a quiet meow and rolls onto his back, swatting one of his long front paws in Blaine’s general direction. 

Thomas makes a good companion. He enjoys quiet and all he expects out of Blaine is a few good head scratches from time to time. This is something Blaine feels he can handle. 

The fate of an entire kingdom’s representation on the other hand, that is something he could really make a mess out of.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following our story. We don't have an exact update schedule, but you can expect at least one update a week. For those of you who were interested in what Thomas the sloth cat looks like, you can find him **[here](http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com/post/40499633367/thomas-the-sloth-cat-from-the-atla-inspired-klaine)**. Enjoy!

_Sifu Katara,_

_I apologize for not having written to you earlier. It’s been a bit of an adjustment, moving to the city. I miss home. It’s too loud here._

_Just when I was starting to find my footing at the clinic, I went and complicated things further by joining a pro-bending team. I’ve heard awful things about the sport from the other healers, but the temptation of prize money has been too much for me to turn down. I am fully expecting a lecture in your return letter._

_There is this boy on the team. Insufferable. You may have heard of him - Blaine Anderson? I’ve read about him in the papers. The press suspects that he’ll too busy with pro-bending and parties to adequately prepare himself to take over for Councilman Qin of the Fire Nation in the coming years, but that probably won’t stop him from gaining the seat anyway. I’m afraid to inform you that Aang’s city seems to be going to the seal dogs._

_Dad sends his love. Hope to hear from you soon._

_-Kurt_

-

Dropping a pinch of powdered resin into the bowl by his side, Kurt creases the parchment and slips it inside a thick canvas envelope, spreading the glue across the lip and carefully sealing it over. The mail system in Republic City is the fastest that he’s ever known, but it pales in comparison to being able to skip over to Katara’s house on a whim; aside from his father, Kurt’s never known anyone better for allaying his fears or easing his moods, but now that he lives an ocean away, he no longer feels as comfortable seeking her help for trifling matters.

It’s difficult for her to find the time to visit, and he wouldn’t want to worry her in the meantime.

They never would have left the South Pole if it hadn’t been for his father’s health; harsh winds and below freezing temperatures put too much stress on his body, and after a couple of accidents had left Burt stranded without help for hours at a time, the decision had been made for the Hummels to move to Republic City. Katara had made the arrangements, ensuring that they would be welcome, that this would be a good change. 

It’s been six months, but Kurt can still remember looking into her eyes and feeling younger than ever when he asked her if they really had to leave. 

She has never been just a teacher to Kurt. Katara is his friend. 

-

Kurt has to hand it to Zhuzi, who seems to be adjusting to the move better than Kurt ever plans to: the koala otter really knows how to get her way. Whenever she wants to have a swim, she sits by the bathtub, scratching at the side paneling until Kurt gives in and turns on the water. 

“Anything to say to Katara before I send this off?” 

Zhuzi says nothing, as expected. Kurt would be more worried about his sleeping habits were he able to understand her.

“Didn’t think so.”

A knock sounds on the door of the bathroom, and Kurt glances up in time to catch his father peeking in, complexion ruddy after a long and likely exhausting day’s work.

“You’ve been disappearing a lot lately, Kurt,” he remarks, leaning against the doorframe and preventing any opportunity Kurt has to leave. “And I know it’s not just work.” 

Kurt mumbles something incoherent under his breath, hoping his father will drop it. 

“What was that?”

No such luck.

“I said, I’ve been recruited to the Dragonhawks.” Catching a glimpse of a raised brow, Kurt shakes his head dismissively. “Really, I’m doing them a favor. They needed a waterbender. It’s no big deal.” 

His dad’s grin makes one thing clear: the look is one of surprise, not skepticism. “Kid, I’ve been trying to get you to a match since we moved here.”

Kurt once joked that his Dad wouldn’t be able to get him in that arena unless he was playing. He never imagined that his unintentional premonition would come true. 

“They don’t have the best sponsorships, but the championship pot is looking pretty good this year. It’ll mean a lot of practice sessions, but I’ll be working less shifts.” Idly, Kurt skims his fingertips over the bathwater, which draws Zhuzi over as she swims around his hand, kicking up warm water. “I could get back to school sooner this way.”

Ambling into the room, Burt seats himself on the side of the tub, dropping a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “You know, the Dragonhawks are looking pretty good this year. Maybe even better now that they got you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll come to love the sport and this’ll become a long-term gig. You could score me ringside tickets to the best games.”

Kurt resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Dad, I was thinking about the _practical_ side of this.” 

“And that Anderson’s a bit of a spitfire,” he chuckles, likely at his own pun. “Good player, though. I don’t listen to a word of what they say about him.”

“He’s a bit of an ass, actually,” Kurt grouses. 

“Kurt, language.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just feel like it’s all happening so fast. One day I’m healing this jock’s arm, the next I’m in the gym participating in what has to be the city’s biggest money sink.” 

Pro-bending is a hot button topic in Republic City. Some argue that it helps tourism, others that it promotes violence among the younger generations; even in its relative infancy, there are rumors of corruption and deals being struck behind closed doors, undercutting whatever contributions it offers to the economy. But with the war fresh in everyone’s minds and freedoms held dear among the people, until pro-bending proves to have an overwhelmingly negative effect on society, it seems that the sport is here to stay. 

“If there’s anyone who can do it all, Kurt, it’s gonna be you. I just know it.” 

Kurt has his doubts, but he’s sure going to try. 

-

An unfamiliar head of golden brown hair smacks Kurt in the face as a girl he’s never seen before in his life pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. The force of it all is surprising, considering her stature; he feels as though the very wind’s been knocked out of his lungs. “You must be Kurt!”

Once Kurt worms his way out of the embrace, he catches Puck looking over at him with an amused smile. 

There are times when Kurt’s intrigued by this group he’s somehow amassed, but sometimes he also worries that they’re all crazy. 

“I must. And you are?”

“Sugar Motta. I’d say that you’ll be remembering the name because it’s going to be sewn on your new uniforms, but daddy says we’re not allowed.”

Another rich city dweller. _Great_. Kurt nods, doing his best to offer a welcoming smile. People like her make pro-bending tournaments a possibility; without the support of the upper class, there wouldn’t be a championship pot to be fighting over in the first place.

“Sugar’s dad is kind of an unofficial sponsor,” Puck explains, rubbing at his neck with a towel.

“And _I’m_ your official number one fangirl. Unless you guys lose. After all, a respectable girl can’t go around rooting for the losers. It’s just not right.”

“She’s kidding,” Puck adds.

“I’m not,” Sugar smiles. 

“Well, I’d say this was a good practice. We should keep at it until next week. Sue’s girls won’t go down without a fight.” Puck takes Sugar’s arm, and Sugar giggles. “Gentlemen.” He nods. “Remember to lock up on your way out.” 

Kurt’s stomach sinks. Generally, he tries to avoid being left alone with Blaine. It’s awkward trying to make small talk with someone you’ve read so much about; Kurt has to keep straight what he’s read in the papers and what Blaine’s told him personally. 

“So, any big plans for the weekend?” Before Blaine can answer, Kurt’s mind fills with images of lavish parties and handsome dress, trays of delicate glasses passed around while Blaine chats up the city’s elite. 

“Not really. I have a dinner at Councilman Qin’s estate, but it shouldn’t take long. The only thing I have my eye on for the weekend is curling up with Thomas and a good book.” Blaine flushes. “Thomas, I should clarify, is a sloth cat. Not a human.”

Shoulders immediately tensing, Kurt narrows his gaze, staring intently at a blank space on the wall. He doesn’t like being mocked, doesn’t like having his way of living brought up like it’s some kind of novelty. It’s not Kurt’s fault that he enjoys the simpler things in life. Someone like Blaine, brought up with all of the luxuries life has to offer, surely can’t relate. 

“Puck says you have a koala seal thing, right?” Blaine asks, after a few moments of tense silence. 

“Koala otter,” Kurt corrects, “And yes.” 

“Sorry. It’s just, I know one of the girls on Sue’s team, Brittany. Sometimes she brings her turtle duck to matches and it swims around underneath the platform. The refs don’t seem to mind, as long as it doesn’t prove to be a distraction. Just thought you might wanna know.” 

It feels like Blaine is going out of his way to be nice, and it strikes Kurt as disingenuous. Typical politician.

“I’ll... keep it in mind.” 

“I don’t get you,” Blaine says. “Puck keeps telling me to give you a chance, but I’m still not seeing it.”

“Seeing what?”

“What he thought was so great about you. You’re a fair waterbender, but you’re hardly what I’d call a team player. I try to be nice to you, and you look at me like... I don’t know, like I’m purposely trying to tick you off.”

“Is this about me not caring for you or about my skills in the ring? Because I assure you, Blaine, we can work together without me having to kiss the ground you walk on. I’m sorry, I know you’re used to that sort of treatment.” 

“That’s your problem. You assume things about _everyone_.” Blaine’s voice gets louder as he speaks, and his words echo off the gym walls. “I bet when you’re treating your patients, you assume they did something to bring their injuries upon themselves.”

“Clearly you’ve never been to the mid-town clinic,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. He’s sure Blaine’s family has a physician on-call. “People go there when they have a headache.” 

“Like I said. You assume things.”

Kurt doesn’t have to stand here and be lectured by Blaine. He doesn’t have the time for it. In fact, he should already be heading to work. 

He doesn’t _want_ to get to know every single person in this overcrowded city. He’s better off assuming. He knows he’s never going to find the sense of community he had back home, so he’s stopped looking for it. 

“Lock up when you’re done?” Kurt says, gathering his equipment and tossing it into his bag. 

“What?”

“Puck told us to lock up when we were done. I’m off to work, so I’ll leave it to you.” 

-

_Kurt,_

_If you were looking for a lecture, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. In fact, I look forward to getting to the city as soon as I can to see you play._

_I wouldn’t put too much stock in what the other healers have to say about your extracurricular activities. I never have._

_I’ve heard a little about Blaine, and as someone who has been parodied in plays and been ripped apart in the papers in my youth, I’ve learned not to take what the media has to say too seriously. It wasn’t that long ago that these countries had their children fighting their wars. Remember that, Kurt. They still haven’t learned how to deal with a child thrust into the spotlight. Perhaps they never will._

_I know adjusting to the city has been hard for you, Kurt. I could read it in your letter, even without you having to say it. Remember that you always have a home on Airbender Island, even if I’m not there. I’m sure Tenzin would love to see you._

_-Katara_

-

“Hummel, where have you _been?_ ”

“Sorry, sorry!” Kurt breathes in apology, skidding to a stop in the locker room as he shoves his bending gear haphazardly into a corner and quickly tugs off his jacket, hanging it on the hook at the back of his cubby. He doesn’t bother glancing over, but he can already see the scolding look on Harmony’s face, blue eyes sharp with disdain. “Practice ran late.”

“We have three in the waiting room here for fatigue, and another two need draining for their seasonal allergies.” Kurt has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. City dwellers are so impatient, and their needs so frivolous; even with an abundance of healers back home, Kurt can’t imagine anyone seeking the services of a healer for something that can be solved with a couple hours’ bedrest. 

Besides, none of it ever changes. They’ll go back to the same jobs, continue to work unproductive long hours, and it’ll draw all of them back to the front door of the clinic, right where they started. The only difference is that they’ll have wasted Kurt’s time.

Maybe pro-bending isn’t the most wasteful venture of the city’s after all.

“Well, they’ll get some rest by sitting quietly in the waiting room, won’t they?” Kurt mutters under his breath, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his uniform, wincing when the fabric brushes against a long gash on his shoulder, his latest injury from practice.

Harmony tuts upon seeing the wound. “I hope you don’t expect us to spare a healer for you.”

“I’ll see to it myself,” snaps Kurt.

“It’d better be on your own time,” she sniffs, turning on her heel to head back to the exam rooms.

Kurt slams his locker shut.

-

In the end, it’s Katara’s letter that serves as a comforting weight in Kurt’s pocket, a reminder to be patient and avoid putting up too much resistance to all around him. He’s hoping the presence of her words and a fallback to Water Tribe philosophy will get him through this trying day. 

Stepping into the waiting room, Kurt glances down at his chart. The intake form is written in blocky handwriting, nearly impossible to read. “Ying?” he calls out. 

A girl around his age stands, clutching her arm to her chest, and the pallor of her complexion makes clear that she’s here for a little more than fatigue. Initially too focused on making his assessment, Kurt doesn’t notice the familiar face at her side at first. 

“Tenzin?” Kurt calls out, unable to contain his smile. 

“Keep it down,” Tenzin warns in a hush, his arm pinned tightly around the young woman as the pair of them step closer. “Chief Bei Fong can’t find out that we were here.”

With another glance at the girl, Kurt arches a brow, surprised he didn’t catch the resemblance earlier. “You’re Lin, aren’t you?” 

The mention of her name earns Kurt a defensive glare, but it quickly turns into a wince. Her arm juts at an awkward angle, likely broken. 

He was right. Definitely not fatigue. 

“She was trying to learn metalbending on the side. Part of a dumpster landed on her arm,” Tenzin explains, a vein of worry surfacing in spite of his stern tone. “We think it’s broken...”

“You _think?_ ” Kurt scoffs, waving for both of them to follow. 

“Okay, we know it’s broken, but if we take Lin to her family physician, her mother will have our heads. You have to help us, Kurt.” 

After a couple of seconds, Kurt sighs. “Fine. But you owe me.” Where Kurt comes from, favors are worth more than money, and he likes having a few favors in his pocket. He only wishes it weren’t necessary to hide the truth from one of Katara’s best friends in the process; already, his stomach twists at the thought.

“Fine,” Tenzin nods. “Anything. Just please, help her?” 

-

“No offense, Tenzin, but she’s more stubborn than the guys on my team,” Kurt mutters as he slides out of the recovery room, skin slightly blanched from the exertion.

Breathing in deep, presumably in relief, Tenzin shakes his head. Judging by the scuff marks on the floor, he’s been pacing since Kurt started the healing; although Kurt tried his best to allow Tenzin in the room, if there’s one thing he can’t tolerate during his work, it’s backseat driving.

Tenzin’s a bit prone to it.

“That’s Lin for you,” he sighs, palm briefly rubbing against his temple. “I warned her that one small success didn’t mean that she’d mastered the entire bending practice, but I think in pointing that out, she set her sights on a much larger goal. She went from bending spoons to, as I said, an entire dumpster. It’s a miracle we managed to skip away before the police came around.”

Kurt waves for the both of them to step into the next room over, momentarily empty and hidden away from prying eyes. “I’ll say. I hear that Toph keeps a pretty tight ship.”

Tenzin nods. “Officers stationed every few blocks. Recruitment is also very competitive, which keeps them motivated, always wanting to do their best. She’s... very good at what she does.”

Leaping lightly onto the bed, Kurt lets his feet hang a couple inches off of the ground, hands gripping tightly to the edge of the mattress. “So I’ve heard. Why’s Lin trying to learn metalbending by herself, anyway? Wouldn’t it make sense for her to ask Toph for help?”

“Would _you_ want your parent to be your bending master?”

“My dad _was_ for a while. I studied under Katara because I became interested in healing, not because I wanted time away from my dad,” Kurt says hesitantly. It’s hard to discuss bending lessons with Tenzin. Out of everyone he knows, Kurt’s pretty sure Tenzin has the most pressure on his shoulders.

That’s why he’s so serious.

“Don’t you get along well with your father for your lessons?”

Tenzin holds up a hand, brushing it once to the side, as though to redirect the conversation. “My situation is different. Avatar Aang is very supportive whenever I decide that I want to try something new, as is my mother.” His gaze skirts to the side, brow furrowing. “If anything, sometimes I feel like they don’t take me seriously enough.”

Personally, Kurt thinks that Tenzin can afford to lighten up a little, but he simply bites down on his lip.

“But Lin’s environment has always been... rather controlled. She hasn’t had the same opportunities that I have. Lin’s never traveled the world, and her bending lessons are always supervised very closely by her mother. Chief Bei Fong won’t even _let_ Lin learn metalbending, let alone offer to teach her.”

Kurt frowns. “So... you’re helping her instead.”

Tenzin’s cheeks flush immediately, both brows raising and practically disappearing into his nonexistent hairline. “W-well, you see, she thinks that metalbending is quite... _cool_ , and while I’m not sure that I, I agree with that assessment, I know that I wouldn’t be able to stop her if I tried, so — so I thought I could at least look out for her,” he stammered, gaze stumbling across the room.

Biting back the temptation to laugh, Kurt grins, patting the empty spot next to him. Tenzin begrudgingly obliges, staring at the floor. “You could tell Toph what she’s up to,” he points out.

Tenzin tilts his head in concession. “I could. But then I would be resigning her to a life of constant supervision and scrutiny, and even if there are times when I think that Lin is being too reckless — _plenty_ of times, in fact — I can’t do that to her. She’s not as suited for it as I am.”

Avatar Aang has been to Republic City several times since Kurt moved there. And even before that, Kurt’s seen him plenty of times over the years, usually claiming a few minutes whenever he came to visit Katara at the South Pole. The very sight of him is a memory Kurt doesn’t think he’ll ever let go.

When he turns slightly to glance at Tenzin, it strikes Kurt how very similar the both of them are in appearance. Even as he’s conscious of the fact, Kurt still can’t imagine what it would be like to have others recognize him at a glance and set expectations within a second or two.

But Avatar Aang and his family aren’t the only ones that the people of Republic City have their eyes on.

“I think I kind of understand,” says Kurt, looking away again.

“I knew you would.”


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been our absolute pleasure to continue sharing this story with you guys. Thank you to our faithful readers; your feedback delights us! As a treat, here's a picture of **[Blaine and a turtle duck](http://drblaine.tumblr.com/post/40998865721/coming-soon-to-burns-brighter-art-by)** , taken from a portion of this chapter. Enjoy!

The locker room is quiet. Blaine still isn’t sure how to speak to Kurt without starting an argument of some sort. He thinks of offering Kurt his silent support, but he remembers wishing someone had given him a few words of wisdom before his first match. Puck giving him a pat on the shoulder hadn’t counted. 

“The first match is always a little rough. You can practice until you can’t feel your limbs, but nothing compares to being up against another team.” 

“Excuse me?” Kurt asks. “I wasn’t aware I asked you for a pre-game pep talk.” 

Blaine doesn’t know what he was expecting. Attempts at conversation with Kurt always tend to go like this. “Sorry,” he says quietly, voice slightly strained. “I thought you might be nervous.”

“Me?” Kurt laughs. “Nervous? Clearly you haven’t seen the start of hunting season in the South Pole. Now _that_ is a blood bath. This? This is a little game.” 

On some level, Blaine knows that he should be the bigger man, but it’s difficult when every attempt seems to be met with Kurt’s condescending tone and some pointless comparisons being drawn. If there’s anything that Blaine’s done his best to avoid by turning to pro-bending, it’s the feeling of being seen as a child, but with Kurt joining the team, that escape seems to weaken by the day.

“Kurt?” Emma calls from the entrance of the locker room, heels clicking nervously from where she stands by the door. “A word, please? I noticed your guestlist for the evening and I had a few questions for you.” 

Kurt sighs, likely of relief. Blaine wasn’t aware that he was _that_ awful to be in the company of. 

With Kurt gone and the room momentarily empty, Blaine walks over to the bench lined up beside the stadium’s extending bridge. Blaine prefers quiet before a match. He needs time to collect his thoughts, time to force on what’s up ahead, and as much as he’s tried to help Kurt prepare for his first round, the waterbender’s heels are dug in deep — the team will be better served if Blaine takes a moment to anchor himself rather than fight a pointless battle.

As if on cue, Puck steps inside the locker room, interrupting the moment with a hand dropped heavily on Blaine’s shoulder. “You think Kurt’s ready for tonight?” 

Drawing in a deep breath, Blaine lets it out slowly between his teeth before he replies. “Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to tell you want you want to hear?”

Puck sets his helmet on his lap, scratching at the back of his neck with a nonchalant shrug. “It sounds like you want to tell me your honest opinion, so go ahead. Can’t have you blowing up over something in the arena later tonight.”

“He already acts like he owns the ring, but he’s stubborn, Puck. He’s _so_ stubborn. He doesn’t listen to a word I say. Any guidance I’ve tried to give him has gone in one ear and out the other. He thinks he knows it all, and I’m sick of it.”

“That could be a problem,” Pucks nods. Blaine briefly wonders if he’s being humored. “I say, we give it a try and hope for the best. Look at it this way, we would have had to drop out already without him. At least we get to play.”

“You’re... a little too calm about this. Eerily calm.” Blaine gazes briefly at Puck; he might have to have a talk with Sugar. 

Puck ducks his head out of the locker room, offering a small wave as the crowd roars. “Just try and enjoy it, Blaine.” He steps back in, away from the view of the crowd. “You complain about him a lot, you know. More than you complain about me. It’s weird, man.” 

“He’s like a virus,” Blaine says. “It’s like he’s wormed his way into my brain.”

“Whatever you say, but you need to chill out a little. You can’t babysit him out there.” 

-

The first time Blaine ever participated in a pro-bending match, his eyes had immediately turned on the other firebender on the opposing team. A game of comparisons first, while his mind had yet to catch up with all of the variables or remember strategy as the crowd roared around them. Some of that nervousness remains at the pit of his stomach these days before matches, but for the most part, he draws momentum from that sense of imbalance, fire easily flaring from his knuckles and helping him revel in the excitement of the moment, the _living_ that sometimes he only ever feels when he’s within the rink.

They’ve watched the Unholy Trinity in action before, and they’ve even competed against the team, although never with Kurt as their waterbender. It lends Blaine enough familiarity that he’s able to focus on his new teammate instead of the girls as they step out onto the platform. Kurt looks pale, even under the shadow of his helmet, and Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever seen the blue of Kurt’s eyes so sharp and intense before — like shards of ice, glaring in the direction of the Trinity’s waterbender, Brittany.

It’s déjà vu of a sort that Blaine never expected to experience.

“ _...one of the favorites to advance into the finals! These girls are not to be trifled with, carefully hand-picked by none other than trainer Sue Sylvester, who has coached no less than four of the last five tournament champions. The Dragonhawks sure have their work cut out for them today, and we’ve yet to see their new waterbender in action..._ ”

Blaine’s eyes flicker over to Kurt; if he’s listening to the commentary, it doesn’t show. Still, he can’t help but step over, bumping Kurt lightly with his elbow. Kurt starts.

“Make sure you keep an eye on all three players,” Blaine suggests in an undertone. In front of them, Puck hams up for the cameras, soaking up the attention of hundreds of screaming fans. “I know it’s tempting to stick to the element you know, but you’ll stand a better chance of weathering water than you will the other elements.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kurt hisses in return, practically bristling under Blaine’s words. “I _remember_ our training.”

Glancing to the side, Blaine raises a hand in concession, then steps back into position.

He doesn’t want to make things worse.

“C’mon, boys, let’s _win_ this thing,” Puck roars, stepping by to punch both of them on their shoulder plates before he steps to the far left of the zone.

“He _talks_ a good talk,” Santana jeers from across the center line, one hand placed on her hip, “but careful with the volume, Puckerman; your baby-faced waterbender looks like he’s ready to be put down for a nap.”

“I have a spare blanket if he needs it,” volunteers Brittany from the opposite end, raising her arm in the air.

“Let’s see if you’re still laughing by the end of the round,” Puck calls out in turn, but the words die on his tongue when Blaine takes a half step forward, a silent request for Puck to stop running at the mouth. Pro-bending and politics may be as different as night and day, but both require keeping up a certain image.

Besides, judging by Kurt’s tightened fists, the extra banter might be making him more nervous. Blaine hopes that having Kurt in the center will make it easier for Puck and himself to look after him.

“Players into position,” the referee requests, thrusting his fan up into the air.

The crowd fades into white noise; Blaine lets his breath slip between his teeth in a hiss.

“ _Aaand there’s the bell!_ ”

Immediately, Kurt seems shaken by the simultaneous slam of Puck’s foot on the ground and that of the Trinity’s earthbender, Quinn. As the discs go flying through the air, whizzing by their ears, the split second delay in both Kurt and Blaine backfires when Brittany sends a whip of water slamming towards their ankles. Blaine manages to dodge the attack with a jet of fire aimed at the ground.

Only a second later does he realize that he’s left Kurt vulnerable to attack.

“ _Ooh! It looks like the Dragonhawks’ novice is down within the first five seconds of the game. Will he recover in time to hold his ground? These girls know an opportunity when they see one—_ ”

Seated neatly on the ground, Kurt’s eyes widen as Quinn changes focus, no longer parrying with Puck as she rolls to the side, Santana wordlessly taking her place. No less than three discs head for Kurt’s chest in quick succession, and with a desperate flail, Kurt draws up water with both arms to shield his body in a half circle, freezing the liquid in time to catch the first two discs.

Exactly like he did in practice.

The third disc manages to slip through, slamming Kurt square in the chest and sending him rolling back into the second zone with a muffled shout. Blaine starts indiscriminately firing forward as he glances quickly in Kurt’s direction — an aggravated yell from Santana tells him that his instincts are hitting _something_ , at least — but Kurt’s on his feet before too long, skin pale and slightly off-color, but stance strong.

“ _Penalty for using ice in round!_ ” the referee shouts, having spared a moment to let Kurt recover his breath before making his call. “The Dragonhawks’ waterbender must move back one zone.”

Brow knitting quickly, Blaine turns back ahead; with Kurt in the third zone, chances are that he’ll be out for the first round soon, and if they plan on holding onto the match, Blaine and Puck will have to make up for the loss.

Worried though he may be, there’s no time to watch after Kurt’s every move.

-

Getting knocked into the water has always been one of Blaine’s least favorite parts. He thinks that his determination to stay out of the icy cold water below is what makes him such a strong player.

Determination, however, isn’t always enough to keep him from falling in. Quinn must have put a different spin on that disc, or something, because before Blaine knows it, he’s plunging into the water below the platform.

The first time, he had been terrifying. Now, it’s just annoying. 

When he surfaces, he notices Brittany’s turtle duck swimming towards him. Blaine flails a little, trying to get away, but the creature only seems to swim faster.

He only stops when he has a firm hold on one of Blaine’s shoulder pads. 

“Dammit,” Blaine curses under his breath. “The pets aren’t distracting, they said. They’re a crowd favorite.” 

He just barely manages to shake free of the turtle duck before stepping onto the elevator to rerun to the platform. 

-

The bell rings at the end of their third round, all six players miraculously still on the playing field, gasping for breath and slowly drawing towards the center. With the first round won by the Trinity and the second barely claimed by the Dragonhawks, the two teams are forced to sudden elimination in order to decide the round.

“The coin toss has been won by the Dragonhawks!” the referee announces. Blaine bites down the temptation to cheer.

“Okay, everyone in,” Puck says, gesturing for them to join him as he claps a hand down on Kurt’s shoulder, shaking it to ease some of the tension away. “What’s the plan?”

“Anyone but me,” Kurt says quickly, seeming to pale further from what Blaine can see of his face through the mask. It surprises Blaine. He expected that Kurt would be fighting for the chance to be the one to break the tie. 

Puck looks to Blaine. 

“If it helps, I’ve seen Santana play plenty of times. I think I know how she’s going to do this.” Blaine doesn’t enjoy being in the spotlight, but he’ll do what he has to in order to take his team to victory. 

“Sounds good,” Puck nods. 

Blaine chances a look back over at Kurt, who seems frozen on the spot. 

“Don’t worry. I got this,” Blaine says, adjusting his helmet quickly before stepping forward.

Santana breaks away from her group to join Blaine on the center ring. “I have to say, we’re all a little disappointed freshmeat didn’t volunteer. Britts wanted to give him a proper league welcome.”

“There’s always next time,” Blaine says. “Oh wait, sorry. You’re about to get eliminated. There’s always next _year_.” He makes sure to keep his tone low, so only Santana can hear him. Blaine may be all about keeping his image intact, but he’s not about to miss out on a pro-bending tradition. 

Besides, he has the feeling that breaking his usually cool demeanor with an insult or two is likely to rile Santana. Already, they’ve managed to edge out the odds, holding on in spite of the disadvantage in having a green player.

The platform starts to rise up. Blaine still remembers the first time he was in this position. He thought he was going to fall off, or worse, lose. 

But he’s learned a lot since then.

The subtleties of firebending are never clearer than in tiebreaking rounds like this. Without the distraction of the other two elements, benders are able to focus more closely on the fire itself, removing so much of the unpredictability that it normally adds to a game. There’s no way to completely control flames; they breathe, take in the very air around them, and Blaine tends to think of fire as being as alive as the benders that wield it. That sense only increases with the way fire responds to a bender’s emotions — flaring in pride, colorless when cold, or striking suddenly with brutality.

Santana speaks with her stance. Blaine sees the hit coming before he can even make out a spark. Ducking underneath the heat, he darts forward to take advantage of her momentary imbalance. She leans forward, her flames strong with the grit of her jaw, helpless to dodge when Blaine sends a quick jet of fire aimed at her ankles. 

He smiles, able to hear her topple off the platform before he looks up. That, and a long string of curses before the thud.

It mirrors the way that emotions work in life, Blaine thinks. Any singular passion is easily read, and Santana practically _breathes_ anger in her stance. Fury is powerful in driving fire, and Santana wields that strength unforgivingly in rounds, but it’s also predictable.

Frankly, Blaine is surprised that someone like Santana has lasted in the league this long. 

-

They’ve won. Barely, but they’ve won. 

Puck immediately pulls off his helmet and signals for the crowd to get louder. The reporters are so focused on him that they don’t notice when Blaine takes Kurt’s arm and directs them to the locker room. 

Yanking his arm back from Blaine the second they’re safe inside and away from the noise, Kurt sits down on the bench, pulling off his pads as quickly as he can manage with shaking hands. One hand splays over his chest as Kurt winces, massaging the area where he was slammed in the first round. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.” 

“Sounds a little like my first match,” Blaine chuckles. 

Kurt quirks a brow at Blaine, gaze slightly unsteady. Gradually, some of the color seems to be returning to his face. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. I was scared out of my mind. I kept thinking that I was going to embarrass myself, my family... the whole of the Fire Nation, really.”

“I can’t imagine that kind of pressure.” 

There’s an immediate temptation for Blaine to agree with Kurt, and to further impress on the fact that Kurt simply _can’t_ imagine that level of pressure, even if he tried. Kurt has no idea what kind of scrutiny Blaine is under, both in and out of the arena. Lips parting for the retort, Blaine barely stops himself. This thing between him and Kurt, the constant need to one-up each other, it can’t be good for the team. He needs to make a conscious effort to bite his tongue. 

Still, Blaine feels like he should say something, if for no other reason than to strengthen their bond as a team, but before he can, they’re interrupted. 

Blaine recognizes the robes immediately. The boy at the door is Avatar Aang’s son, Tenzin. A young woman stands by his side, but Blaine can’t quite place her. As Blaine prides himself in remembering faces, this bothers him a little. 

“Tenzin!” Kurt grins, lighting up at the very sight of him. “You aren’t supposed to be back here!” 

Thoughts immediately derailed, Blaine’s gaze lingers on Kurt. He hasn’t seen his teammate like this before, so open and... smiley. Usually, Kurt’s lips are pressed into a thin line, often judgmental. (Not that Blaine spends a lot of time looking at Kurt’s lips.)

“Yes, well, as you know, Lin isn’t a huge fan of observing certain rules. Such as signs declaring a restricted area, for instance.” 

Lin socks Kurt in the shoulder. “You were horrible out there. We kept wondering if you were going to wet yourself.” She frowns. “You didn’t, did you?” 

“Don’t listen to her,” Tenzin cuts in. “You did an admirable job.” 

Feeling out of place, Blaine shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He doesn’t want to interrupt Kurt’s time with his friends, even if they’re not even allowed in the team’s locker room. “I told Wes I would meet up with him after,” he tells Kurt. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kurt says, still smiling, but it’s clear that his smile isn’t meant for Blaine.

As he leaves, Blaine feels some of his frustrations with Kurt earlier start to dissipate. He hadn’t been intentionally rude. He was _scared_. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine catches Kurt laughing with his friends, a far cry from the boy who invaded his gym just weeks earlier. Maybe things could be different, if Blaine’s mere presence didn’t seem to annoy Kurt.

“So, that’s Blaine?” the girl asks. 

“Yeah,” Kurt replies. “That’s Blaine.”


	5. Chapter Four, Part A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you, [thegrayowl](http://thisgrayowl.tumblr.com), for making us some amazing [cover art](http://thisgrayowl.tumblr.com/post/41068662683/burns-brighter-by-drblaine-ourlivesareweird)!

“Yeah,” Kurt replies. “That’s Blaine.” 

“He’s cuter in the papers,” Lin notes with a brief, calculating look over her shoulder. “Shorter than I thought he’d be too.”

Kurt considers asking Lin not to stare, but odds are that he’d only end up encouraging her. Instead, his nose wrinkles at her observation, trying to recall his own first impression of Blaine — he doesn’t get far. “That doesn’t even make sense. Even the pictures on the front page are four inches tall at best,” remarks Kurt.

“He’s well-proportioned,” Lin explains, earning a brief sputter from Tenzin. Waving the thought off, she presses on. “I gotta know, is he as much of a brat as everyone makes him out to be?” 

“ _Lin!_ ” Tenzin cuts in at last, slightly red around the ears. “It’s not nice to gossip.” 

Although tempted to agree, Kurt finds himself shaking his head. “It’s fine, Tenzin,” he says. “To answer your question, Lin, he’s... really not that bad. You don’t know him.”

Lin arches a brow. “Well, you’ve certainly told me, haven’t you?” 

Kurt doesn’t mind having Lin as a verbal sparring partner. She’s always quick with a response. Normally, he would welcome he exchange. The problem is, he doesn’t feel much like talking about Blaine.

“So Lin,” Kurt says cheerfully. “Did you enjoy the match?”

“I’ve seen better,” she shrugs. “You guys weren’t completely awful. But it’s a shame, seeing the only all-female team get knocked out of the running this early.” 

“It serves Sue right. She plucks her players from all over the globe. Word is, they paid that waterbender under the table to get her to join up.” 

Lin shooks Tenzin a look. 

“I mean,” Tenzin continues. “I have no idea what is going on. Resume your idle gossip.” 

“Right,” Lin says with a slight smile. “Well, I should be going. Kurt, your match wasn’t a complete waste of my evening. Tenzin...” She leans up on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You always know where to find me.” 

As Lin leaves, Kurt watches Tenzin stare after her.

“Someone’s got it bad,” Kurt teases, leaning forward.  
Tenzin smiles; somehow, the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose you could say that.” 

“Is something wrong?” Kurt asks, then flinches. From so close a distance, the question simply seems unnecessary; fortunately, Tenzin seems to take it in stride, his gaze turning. “I just mean that you two seem like you’re getting along well. Or, as well as Lin ever does with people.”

“She’s... everything. She’s my best friend. I’ve loved her since we were kids.” 

It’s rare for Tenzin to come across as anything short of focused, but when his eyes cloud over and his stride turns uneven, Kurt takes it as a sign to watch for prying eyes, guiding both of them towards a smaller hallway, well nestled away from the hundreds of people leaving the stadium. “So what’s the problem?” he asks, leaning against a wall.

Tenzin follows, his back held straight and hands tucked away in his sleeves. “Well, as you know,” he says slowly, “Avatar Aang is getting up there in years.” 

It isn’t the first time that Kurt’s heard Tenzin refer to his father by his title, but every single time, Kurt can’t help but think of how lonely it must feel to have a parent with an obligation greater than to his family. Kurt can’t imagine calling his own father anything other than ‘Dad,’ but Tenzin’s situation is different. Maybe using the title is just a way of coping.

Kurt feels a chill run down his spine; somehow, even though he’s come close to losing his own father before, being able to share this doesn’t make Kurt feel any less lonely. “Is he sick?” 

“No, he’s doing as well as anyone could at his age. But he’s only human, Kurt.” People forget that, sometimes. “He’ll be gone someday. The cycle will continue. And I’ll be the last airbender.” 

It’s hard for Kurt to imagine being concerned about future generations when he hasn’t even found himself.

“Okay, so you and Lin can pop out a million kids,” he suggests. “There’s bound to be some airbenders in the bunch.” 

“She...” Tenzin frowns, rubbing his hand against his chin. “Lin sees a different future for herself. One that doesn’t exactly line up with my own.” 

“So you’re going to break things off?”

Tenzin nods. “I’m not sure when, but it seems inevitable. All I can do is enjoy the time we have left.” 

It all strikes Kurt as incredibly unfair, protests immediately rising in his chest. Tenzin shouldn’t be responsible for the population of the airbenders, but there’s no one else for the responsibility to fall to. 

-

With their next match merely a week away and being the final qualification round for the championships, Kurt’s found himself heading to the gym more than ever before. Strangely, he finds himself looking forward to these hours, to the chance of working out all his tension and the relief of laying his burdens down. When he’s in practice, there’s no time to ponder on questions he can’t answer or people he can’t fathom. His objective is to win the game.

Maybe that’s the whole appeal pro-bending’s held with Blaine.

Dropping his bag gently on the ground, Kurt steps into the main practice area, surprised when he only finds Blaine. He draws water from a nearby basin, passing it in front of Blaine’s field of vision in greeting. “Is Puck going to be joining us?” Kurt asks, grinning when Blaine waves.

“Uh,” Blaine scratches the back of his head. “No, he’s not. He’s got this crazy idea that we need to learn to work together better. Thinks it’s be better if he leaves us alone.”

“And I think he just wanted to hang out with his girlfriend,” Kurt mutters.

Blaine laughs. “Unofficially, I agree.” 

“And officially?”

Grimacing, Blaine rubs at the back of his neck. “Puck once shifted the foundation under my apartment. Everything was tilted slightly to the left for an entire week. I thought I was going insane.”

“Right,” Kurt nods, nose wrinkling in a smile. However endearing the image of Blaine fretting about his apartment might be, Kurt knows they shouldn’t be sitting around idly gossiping about Puck, so he points his thumb in the direction of the makeshift ring. 

“I don’t have to be at the clinic until two. We have plenty of time before then. Where do we start?”

“Well, Puck thinks we need to stop working against each other,” Blaine muses with a raise of his brow.

It’s strange how much truth there is in Puck’s words. With the walls lowered and a bit more perspective under his belt, Kurt finds himself at greater ease in the gym than ever before. His eyes briefly glance over Blaine, at the broad expanse of his chest, considering Lin’s words from several days ago. Living in Republic City makes it impossible for him to go very long without being bombarded with Blaine’s image at some turn, whether it’s in the athletics section of the paper, or political columns discussing the future of the Council.

In comparison to spreads and photo ops, the Blaine who stands before Kurt seems like any other person.

Not so tall.

“And what do you think?” Kurt asks after a pause, taking a step closer towards Blaine with his expression carefully held even.

“Well,” Blaine says nervously. (The future Councilman? Nervous? In front of Kurt?) “I think that a little teamwork couldn’t hurt.” 

Blaine’s guard must be down, judging by the way he entirely misses the orb of water Kurt lets float above his head, held aloft with a few swift, circular hand movements. “That sounds great,” he answers earnestly, watching Blaine heave a small sigh of relief before abruptly dropping the water onto Blaine’s head. 

As Blaine splutters, looking a bit like a drowned buffalo yak, Kurt considers scooping up both of their supplies and dumping it all in the locker room, leaving Blaine soaking wet and miserable, but when Blaine glances up with a wide-eyed stare, Kurt decides to take pity.

Asking him not to laugh is the harder task.

“ _Hummel_ , what was that for?” Blaine demands, pushing his fingers through wet strands of hair, but the slight tug at the corner of his mouth seems to give everything away.

“Teamwork means knowing how to get a little dirty together, doesn’t it?” chuckles Kurt, stepping closer to pull and siphon excess water away from Blaine’s clothes and hair, returning it to the basin in the center of the gym. Conserving water might spare him a few trips to the tap.

He doesn’t even have the chance to manage a halfway serviceable job before Blaine’s clothes suddenly start to hiss, steam rising from the fabric as Kurt yelps and stumbles back from the heat.

From a distance, Kurt notices for the first time how closely the damp cloth is plastered to Blaine’s skin. As often as Kurt finds himself in the gym, one glance at Blaine has him feeling suddenly self-conscious; planes of muscle are clearly defined all over Blaine’s body, lean and sturdy in the way that firebenders tend to be.

Unlike Puck, Blaine doesn’t need to keep close to the ground. Unlike Kurt, his strength doesn’t lie in turning existing momentum against an opponent.

Fire’s forced to breathe life out of nowhere, and Kurt barely has time to settle the sudden thud of his heart before a line of flame forces him to turn out of the way, heat rushing by his shoulder.

“Maybe teamwork’s overrated,” Blaine smirks, eyes alight as he strikes forward with another burst of fire, the air between them crackling before Kurt whips his arms around to send a long arc of water in Blaine’s direction, putting the flames out with a hiss.

“Maybe,” he agrees.

It becomes clear after a couple of minutes how much Blaine’s held back in their earlier practices. Some of it was Beiste’s idea, letting the newest member act more in defense, stepping back to add support for Blaine and Puck wherever needed. Against fire, water’s practically an impenetrable defense, easily whipped around to help redirect the heat; as a result, few firebenders have ever focused their attention on Kurt in rounds.

Blaine seems to revel in the challenge.

Leaping through the air becomes a necessity against the near constant punches Blaine throws Kurt’s way, and soon enough, his calves ache, muscles forced back on instinct and reserve strength. Relying on stamina might pull a draw during the tournament, but both of them are stubborn people. It’s practice, but their aim is perfection.

He’ll have to take offense if he wants to win.

They pull to the center of the ring, barely three feet apart when Kurt gathers water around his arm, punching it directly towards Blaine’s face. He grins in triumph when Blaine’s eyes widen in surprise, but the victory doesn’t last long — even as Blaine starts to fall to the ground, he gathers his legs up by his abdomen and kicks them fiercely in Kurt’s direction. Barely managing to escape the heat, Kurt overcorrects his balance, leaning forward and suddenly scrambling to stand. Water splashes helplessly down around them as Kurt flinches, both palms held out to keep him from slamming against slate.

Except, one catches on something warm, soft, the rounded curve of a shoulder that breaks his fall into a stumble.

Blinking his eyes open, Kurt finds himself hovering a couple inches above Blaine, who similarly stares up with a bemused expression.

It’s wet. Everything is wet, droplets caught on Blaine’s skin and sliding slowly down his cheek, a pool gathered in the dip between his collarbones. Only seconds later does Kurt catch himself looking at all, cheeks blazing as he quickly corrects his gaze.

He catches a flicker of Blaine’s eyes. Glancing up, Kurt thinks.

(Blaine’s lips are wet, too, and Kurt curses his peripheral vision.)

“Well, if that's what you two need to sort out your differences, you can take my bed.”

Suddenly, all Kurt’s aware of is a tangle of limbs as he scrambles to roll off to the side, knees splashing through puddles in the process. He and Blaine stand within seconds of each other, if not less.

“We weren’t—”

“—were just—”

“—funny, just practicing and then he—”

“—fell, I fell.”

Puck grins.

“ _No funny business in the gym, boys,_ ” Beiste bellows from across the room, sweeping past the entrance with a tall stack of discs in her arms.

Kurt can’t decide if he’d rather hit Puck or beg him to let the earth swallow him up alive.

-

Several minutes before the match, Emma whisks into the locker room, hair sweeping with the movement as she knocks sharply on the door frame.

“Kurt, do you have a minute? There’s a visitor here for you.”

Picking himself up from where he was stretching on the floor, Kurt raises a brow and nods. With the match itself soon to be underway, the visitor is either a close friend or someone bearing an urgent message — his heart lurches suddenly at the thought that his father might be in trouble, having insisted on coming even though his hours have been long...

He steps forward a little faster, briefly catching Puck and Blaine glancing his way as he ducks out of the room.

“...Master Katara!”

Her laugh sounds first, soft yet hearty, and Kurt rushes into her outstretched arms before she even has a chance to reply. “Kurt,” she murmurs, cupping his cheeks briefly and pressing a quick kiss against his forehead. “It’s good to see you.”

Nose wrinkling in slight distaste, Kurt ignores the temptation to bat her away; when he rarely gets to see her in a given month, it’s hard to begrudge anything. “I didn’t think you’d make it here on time!” he marvels, leaning back to glance briefly at her from head to toe. Thankfully, she looks as healthy and energetic as ever. “Sailing here from the South Pole takes forever, and I heard about that storm out at sea. Did you...?”

“A little water’s never stopped me,” she grins, patting his cheek again. “Your father saved me a seat, too. It’s a pretty impressive view from out there.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Kurt says, leaning forward for another tight hug.

“I’m glad to be here. Now, you should run along.” Pulling back, Katara rests her hands on Kurt’s upper arms, giving them a squeeze. “And win this match for me.”

-

With Katara and his father supporting from the front row, Kurt feels less nervous this time around. It also helps, not having Blaine tossing words of wisdom in his direction every few minutes. 

The Dragonhawks seem to be working more as a unit this time. Kurt feels less like a last minute addition and more like a teammate. 

-

The bell sounds, and the crowd falls into a hush for all of five seconds before the result is announced over the speakers: the Dragonhawks won the round, earning them a spot in the pro-bending championships. The roar is deafening, passing through Kurt’s chest in a loud thrum, and maybe it’s just his imagination, but he _swears_ that they’re louder this time than ever before.

His gaze doesn’t drop to his feet, not even for a second; last time, Kurt hadn’t gotten a chance to take a good look at the crowd, too focused on his own faults. But they’re cheering now. _Cheering_. And as he stares, Kurt catches sight of an occasional blue flag waving vigorously — people cheering for him? It’s a strange feeling, something between a thud in his chest and a lump in his throat.

He’s never been into something for the sake of praise, but after weeks of constantly being downtrodden in the clinic, it’s nice to feel proud of himself again.

When he hears a rush of air close to his ear, Kurt turns on his heel, smile still stretched across his face as he watches a disc fly across the ring. 

He doesn’t realize what’s happening at first. The game is over. They’ve won. There shouldn’t be a disc hurtling across the arena at full speed. 

Blaine falls to the ground. Kurt hears laughter — the opposing team’s earthbender. Dustin, was it?

Doesn’t matter. His blood is boiling, stomach twisting. Kurt doesn’t even think before rushing to Blaine’s side. He should be cringing at the fact that he’s using dirty water from below the platform to tend to Blaine’s wound, but he doesn’t give it a second thought. There’s so much blood, more blood than Kurt has ever seen at once. He’s accustomed to mending minor injuries and broken bones. The blood blossoming from the cut on the crown of Blaine’s head — it keeps flowing, it won’t _stop_ — feels like too much for him to mend. 

Fingers smeared with red, Kurt abandons all hope of healing the gash and presses his hands to Blaine’s head, hoping to quell the blood flow. 

He hears footsteps coming from across the bridge. Kurt can’t bring himself to look up until Wes starts to shake his shoulders. “Kurt, you need to stop.”

“I... can’t,” Kurt says weakly. “I have to help him.” 

“We need to get him out of here.” 

Kurt sees a flashbulb out of the corner of his eyes, and it dawns on him. They’re _photographing_ this. These vultures are photographing a young man who is in critical condition. It’s sick.

Katara is next on the scene next with Tenzin, a stretcher floating between them with a soft rush of cool air. Someone’s prying his fingers loose, tugging at his wrists, the wound briefly exposed before Kurt’s hands are replaced with sterile gauze. 

He looks down at his palms. They’re covered in blood, Blaine’s blood. He looks up to see Chief Bei Fong’s metalbenders escorting Dustin off the premises. 

It would be better to let the officers to their job, but Kurt can’t help himself. Before he can think it through, he’s chasing after them and ignoring Puck’s protests. 

He grabs Dustin by his hair. “Why did you do that?” he shouts, and his throat feels torn.

“It wasn’t supposed to hit him in the head.” 

His hand quickly shifts down to Dustin’s neck, eyes wide and _livid_ , because Dustin’s missed the point entirely. It doesn’t matter where the disc was supposed to hit Blaine. He’s hurt, his injury is worse than anything Kurt has ever seen, and Dustin has the gall to make excuses. Blinking through suddenly blurring vision, Kurt grits his jaw, fingers tightening.

“Mr. Hummel.” The hand on his shoulder is gentle, so when Kurt turns to find Chief Bei Fong herself standing close, his breath catches in surprise. “Let us take care of this.” 

Then again, given Blaine’s status, it shouldn’t be surprising that she’s taking it upon herself to see to the escort of Blaine’s attacker.

Kurt lets Dustin go, and it’s the harder thing he’s ever done. Blaine is hurt, and Kurt can’t get his hands on the person who did it to him.

-

The waiting room of the clinic is dark, the steady hum of electricity almost more unnerving than silence. Kurt sent word to his Dad earlier, letting him know that he wouldn’t be home for a while.

He still has on most of his clunky uniform pads. When Kurt flexes his fingers, he can feel the tug of stiff skin; his gloves, stained with Blaine’s blood, were likely tossed out in the confusion. 

There’s nothing he can do to help at this point, but at least he’s there. Good news or bad, he’ll be one of the first to hear. 

Blaine hasn’t woken up yet. The healers in the clinic have tried to keep Kurt positive about it by telling him that they’ve seen people come back from worse, but Kurt can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t going to end well. 

Maybe they’d give him a more realistic prognosis if the clinic wasn’t so _hopeful_ about the recovery of a nation’s future leader. 

Wes takes a seat beside Kurt, burying his head in his hands. 

“I suppose you’re here to tell me that everything’s going to be alright,” Kurt says.

“No,” Wes says quietly. “I’m not.”

It’s a relief. 

“Oh,” Kurt says quietly. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“It’s not a problem,” Wes replies, perhaps to dispel the tension in the air. But there’s something about his words, careful and deliberate in the way that Kurt expects people in Wes’ line of work to be. 

Not having spent a lot of time with Blaine’s aide, Kurt’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“If he doesn’t make it, I’m going to end up next in line for that Council chair.” There’s a distance in his tone; Wes isn’t speaking for Kurt’s benefit. In fact, judging by the pale stretch of his knuckles, the words seem to be for Wes’s own sanity. “And sure, there was a point where I would have wanted it, but not like this.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “Hell, there was a point where I would have said that I was rooting for the kid to crack his head open on the arena floor. It’s awful, but I can’t say I didn’t think it. But now...” He sighs. “He’s Blaine. I’m responsible for him. I was supposed to make certain that this didn’t happen.” 

Kurt’s lips part for a moment, but press tightly shut again when he can’t find the right words to say. Just like he doesn’t know what he wants his fellow clinicians to say to him regarding Blaine’s prognosis. 

All they can do now is give each other the gift of silence.


	6. Chapter Four, Part B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [thisgrayowl](http://thisgrayowl.tumblr.com) for your support and continuing to shower us with [pretty things](http://thisgrayowl.tumblr.com/post/41478049679/burns-brighter-by-drblaine-ourlivesareweird). Your kudos, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! :)

Blaine has a private room, which comes as no surprise, considering his status. It’s a matter of security.

Wes mentioned to Kurt earlier, over a quick lunch both of them listlessly picked at, that this was the nightmare. Sure, the attack had been a simple act of rage over a lost match, but that wasn’t how it was going to look to the public. Automatically, they were going to assume a political motive. 

Kurt wonders if it’s helping public opinion, having Katara around. She’s good with the press, having grown up in the spotlight. She always seems to know what to say. 

Dustin now faces charges for assault. Chief Bei Fong is leading the charge to get him completely removed from the league. Katara is the primary healer on Blaine’s case, and even though there are probably matters to tend to back in the Fire Nation, Wes hasn’t left Blaine’s side any more than Kurt has. It’s a display of unity that the nations need more than ever. 

The pieces all fit so neatly that it almost feels planned; Kurt can easily picture Wes having a hand in it all, carefully calculating his next move. Little details, like the way Tenzin made an appearance at a press conference yesterday with Lin by his side, speaking out in support of pro-bending. They reminded the press that the actions of one player shouldn’t speak for the entire league. Occasional protests crop up, demanding that the sport be outlawed, but they haven’t picked up speed yet. 

It’s all about influence.

As Kurt passes through the overcrowded waiting room, he thinks of Blaine’s private room, quiet and nestled away in a corner of the clinic. As much as he’s glad to see Blaine waited on hand and foot, he knows the factory workers out in the waiting room will be lucky to be seen at all today.

-

Sometimes, Kurt likes to step inside to watch Katara at work as she sits down for a healing session. Her face can be mapped out in lines creased by smiles and laughter, but Katara’s hands always appear unblemished as they dip into the water, a soft glow emanated as she guides it carefully over Blaine’s skin.

Even though Kurt doesn’t believe in magic, he can’t help but hope Katara will find a way to work some of her own.

He hears a small exhale in the background, the telltale glow cast over the room fading, but Kurt continues to stare at his feet while Katara approaches to sit by his side.

“You care for this boy, Kurt.” 

Katara has an ability to see right through him. It’s a little annoying. 

“It’s... complicated,” he mutters, one arm wrapping over his stomach, which continues to twist uncomfortably at the sight of Blaine unmoving on the bed. He keeps his eyes trained on the steady rise and fall of Blaine’s breath. “He seems to have a lot going on right now.”

Katara nods, but her smile suggests that she won’t accept the excuse so easily. It’s not surprising, considering the origins of her relationship with Aang. 

“I don’t think I realized until he was hurt. It was so strange, hitting me all at once,” Kurt sighs, shaking his head. “He was hurt, and I couldn’t fix him like I needed to.” 

“We healers tend to have that problem sometimes,” she nods sagely. “Taking our own abilities for granted. It takes a little more to make us realize what we stand to lose.” 

“Yeah,” Kurt murmurs. “I don’t know if I’m going to do anything about it. Even if Blaine feels the same way, that doesn’t mean that I want anything to do with what his life is about to become. The attention from the Dragonhawks alone is almost too much for me.” 

“I can’t say has always being easy, being with Aang—” 

“That’s why I can’t let this go any further; I don’t know if I want that sort of attention, Katara.” 

“Since when has something not coming easily stopped you?” Katara asks. “And anyway, you didn’t let me finish. It hasn’t been easy, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been worth it. I knew he was it for me very early on, earlier than I was willing to admit to myself. I think it would have been harder, letting him go.” 

It’s hard to speculate on what lies in the future for him and Blaine right now. He hasn’t seen Blaine’s eyes in days, and the memories he holds of their color almost feel like a fabrication. 

“Is he going to wake up?” he asks Katara, voice terse and low. If there’s anyone Kurt expects to be truthful with him, it’s Katara, and the fear of what lies ahead presses down on his chest with a heavy weight. The truth might not be pretty. 

“His spirit is strong,” she says, rising to her feet and stepping to Blaine’s side, where she reaches out with a hand to smooth the curls off of his forehead. “It hasn’t left him yet.” 

-

It figures that the first time Kurt actually listens to Katara’s advice and heads home to rest, Blaine wakes up within the hour. 

Kurt rushes back to the clinic as quickly as he can, his heart thudding in his chest. There have been whispers of long term damage, and Blaine’s waking moments will be the main indicator of his long term prognosis. 

When pulls back the curtain, he finds Blaine already sitting up in bed. Puck is seated on the edge of the mattress, picking various food items off of Blaine’s tray.

It’s the best sight Kurt’s seen in days.

“Puck has already informed me that I look like shit, but I was hoping to get a second opinion.” 

Forced to look more closely, Kurt’s eyes skirt over Blaine’s complexion, no longer as pale as before, or in comparison to the bandages wrapped around his head. The other injuries were shallow at best, most of them disappeared long ago, but still Kurt searches as he steps closer to the bed. Only when he meets Blaine’s eyes does Kurt find himself unable to tear his gaze away. He hasn’t seen those eyes in days now. 

“You look... _great,_ ” Kurt says breathlessly. 

“See?” Puck says over a bite of apple. “Now he’s just lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you, Blaine.” 

Blaine gives Puck’s arm a weak swat. “So? What if I like his lies?” 

The curtain opens again, and Kurt turns. It’s Wes, but he doesn’t look happy.

Kurt finds his own smile fading. Wes should be _thrilled_. Blaine’s awake and his mind is intact. It’s a joyous day. It wouldn’t kill the guy to crack a smile or two. 

“Would you boys excuse us?” Wes asks. 

Puck grabs a bowl of fruit off Blaine’s tray before leaving and Kurt follows him out, scowling slightly at Wes’ dismissive tone. What right does Wes have to call him a boy when Kurt’s been here just as much as the aide has, carefully watching over Blaine’s well-being whenever his healers had to rest? Quietly, he lingers for a second longer by the door, waving Puck away.

When Kurt overhears Wes’ words, his heart sinks. 

“Councilman Qin has fallen ill, he’ll be resigning his Council seat, effective immediately.” 

-

With pro-bending practices suddenly on hold and the clinic now lacking Blaine’s presence, Kurt finds himself restlessly cycling through his shifts. The hours crawl by, and Kurt knows that he should give Blaine time to settle in before visiting him, but he’s worried. He can’t help wondering about the decision to send Blaine home to recover, how they’d ushered him back in spite of Katara’s hesitation — Kurt suspects that they’re putting him to work already, preparing him to take the suddenly empty seat on the Council.

All preparations have to be made before the Council’s next meeting, and time is running short. 

To Harmony’s chagrin, Kurt sneaks out fifteen minutes before the end of his shift; in his rush to escape notice, he’s still dressed in his healing robes, brushing them smooth as he steps up to Blaine’s front door. His hand stills inches away from a knock when he hears shouts through the unforgiving screen. 

“—maybe it took getting hurt to knock some sense into me. I don’t want this, Wes. I don’t want to live the life that’s planned for me.” 

“Blaine, we always knew this day was coming. Of course, we thought we might have a little longer, but we all knew this was coming eventually.” 

“ _We_ knew,” Blaine repeats, tone exaggerated. “ _We_ thought we would have a little longer. If you haven’t noticed, Wes, this is my life we’re talking about.” He pauses. “I don’t understand why it’s _me_. You’re a million times better at all of this. We went to the same schools. Why isn’t it you?” 

“Blaine...”

“The entire time I was out, you took care of everything. It would have been a media circus if it hadn’t been for you. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been the one in control of everything. I have no idea what I’m doing, Wes. The things they’re expecting of me, even if I wanted them, I’m not sure I could handle it. But you, you’d be perfect for this job. Everyone knows it, they’re just too afraid to say it.” 

Kurt barely hears Wes’s response. “That isn’t the point.”

He remembers his conversation with Wes in the waiting room, and he can’t help but think that Blaine’s hit the point a lot more than Wes would like to admit.

Already feeling as though he has heard too much, Kurt abandons his plans of checking up on Blaine. By the sounds of it, he seems to be feeling better than ever.

-

Kurt returns home to find Zhuzi sleeping restfully at the foot of his bed that night. Careful not to disturb her, Kurt crawls into bed. He should probably wash up, or at the very least change out of his clothes from the day, but his limbs feel too heavy to move, and that same stubborn weight from before continues to press heavily on his chest. Even though he’s heard descriptions before of what it’s like to fall for someone, they always seemed so dramatic, trying to link an intangible emotion to natural functions of the body. As a healer, he knows better. His lungs are fine, and he doesn’t have any reason to find it so difficult to breathe.

Still.

Burrowing under his covers, Kurt thinks of Lin and Tenzin. They’re a well-matched pair from the looks of things, and having grown up together, even their personalities seem to fit them together like pieces of a puzzle — but according to Tenzin, they don’t see eye to eye where it counts. 

Katara and Avatar Aang have braved wars together, as well as decades of public scrutiny, opinions sometimes unkind. The nature of Avatar Aang’s role in the world forces them to be apart for months at a time. They still stand strong. 

Even when it’s right, it doesn’t always come easy.

With a sigh, Kurt rolls heavily onto his back, feeling like his mind has been overworked these past few days. And while he’s glad that Blaine’s no longer in any immediate danger, Kurt finds himself wondering if Blaine’s going to wake up in a different sense. If he’s going to step up and take responsibility for his country, and if so, whether or not the effort that goes into love is even worth it.

Snorting suddenly, Kurt shakes his head, burrowing against his pillow. “Who am I fooling, really?” he mumbles, voice muffled. “I don’t even know if he _likes_ me.”

From the foot of the bed, Zhuzi lifts herself up and crawls towards the pillow. Kurt offers a hopeful smile, but finds himself instead rewarded by a smack of her paw to his forehead.

“ _Ow_ ,” he complains. “Fine, fine. You’re right. You’re always right. There’s no point losing sleep over this.”

The koala otter shuffles up to Kurt, nestling by his neck.

Blinking twice before closing his eyes, Kurt tries to will his mind to go blank, even if it’s only for a little while.


	7. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you not familiar with the series we now have a [**primer**](http://gameboycolor.livejournal.com/70592.html). Thank you for your comments and support. :)

_Dragonhawk down? Given the recent retirement of Councilman Qin, it is rumored that Dragonhawks will soon be without their star Firebender, Blaine Anderson. Anderson is currently recovering from a probending-related head injury. Chief Katara, his healer, couldn’t be reached for comment. The Hawk’s PR Agent, Emma Pillsbury, states that Blaine is currently resting comfortably at home._

-

“Chief Katara is here to see you,” Wes announces from the doorway. 

Ever since the accident, Wes seems to have reverted to the initial stiffness Blaine encountered when he first got to Republic City. Blaine can’t tell if it’s because of what happened after the last match or due to the upcoming interim elections. Either way, he misses the Wes he was able to talk to, friend to friend. 

And if the impending championship matches weren’t enough to worry about, Blaine can’t help but wonder what else might have changed in his absence. How is training going for Puck and Kurt? Will Blaine be able to catch up?

Worse yet, will _their_ attitudes towards him have changed as well?

“Well?” Blaine says, slightly terse and annoyed by the formalities. “Show her in. I’m sure she’s here to tell me that today’s the day I can finally get out of this bed.”

Wes bows in parting, and moments later, Katara steps into Blaine’s room. 

“He’s... something, isn’t he?” she says in a quiet, conspiratorial tone. Something about it sets Blaine at ease; Kurt’s always spoken very kindly of Katara in the past, but Blaine was never sure if he was merely speaking as her student.

The fact that Katara decided to take Blaine under her care has never slipped Blaine’s notice. As both the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe and one of the world’s most gifted healers, Katara keeps busy, and her attentions are in high enough demand that she doesn’t just take anyone on as a patient. It’s a little nerve-wracking, realizing that Blaine’s injury has caused enough fuss to garner her attention. 

She gives the fur on top of Thomas’ head a small ruffle before heading to the sink in Blaine’s room to wash up. “How have you been feeling, Blaine?” 

“Fine. Perfect, actually. It’s like nothing happened.”

With a knowing raise of her brow, Katara meets Blaine’s gaze. “And how are you _really_ feeling?”

“Antsy,” Blaine admits, breaking into a reluctant grin. “Bored as hell.” 

Katara smiles. “Perfect.” 

The bandages came off the previous day, but Blaine’s external injuries aren’t the primary concern at this point. The human brain is something that even the best healers, like Katara, can’t always heal completely. It’s something that needs time to heal on its own. In the worst cases, time can’t even heal it. 

Blaine has been told how lucky he is for most of his life. This is the first time he’s believed it. 

Shuffling to his side with a small basin of water, Blaine watches closely as Katara dips her hands inside. They look remarkably young for a woman of her age, immediately covered in a glow as she lifts them out and gestures for Blaine to lean forward. Obediently, Blaine obeys, closing his eyes as he feels the cool touch spread over the site of his wound. The healing sessions have been growing increasingly deep in feel every time; at first, it was all about minimizing the burn of broken bone and pull of split skin, but now Blaine feels a deeper tension easing away.

He sighs, shoulders sagging.

“I tried to see if my schedule would allow me another week here, but I’m needed back at the South Pole.” Catching sight of Blaine’s shoulders tensing, Katara lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But not before clearing you, of course. You’re allowed to return to practice, but you need to take it easy. At the very least, you need a few more sessions, so I will be leaving you in Kurt’s more than capable hands.” 

While Kurt may not be finished yet with his healer training, as the only former student of Katara’s who resides in the city, the choice makes sense. Still, there’s something about the delegation that worms oddly in Blaine’s chest. None of his memories from the attack are very clear, but sometimes he remembers the feel of things; he remembers Kurt’s voice, pitched high and panicked. He remembers seeing Kurt’s eyes wide and rimmed with red the first time they saw one another after Blaine regained consciousness. Even if Kurt has the skill necessary to watch over Blaine, he hasn’t been acting much like the calm, confident young man Blaine first met.

“Kurt? Are you sure? It’s not that he isn’t good. I know he’s good, but he’s been acting so strangely since the... accident.” He knows it was hardly an accident, but ‘attack’ feels too harsh. 

“Well, that’s just his way.” Katara explains as she begins to clean up her work area. 

“What do you mean?”

“He was like this with his father, he was like this the first time Tenzin took a tumble off an air scooter. It’s not at all surprising. He gets very upset when the people he cares about are hurt. But...” Katara gives him a small, secretive smile. “You didn’t hear that from me.” 

For a second, Blaine frowns, caught on his strange inclusion in a group of people he knows Kurt feels closer to than himself. It isn’t hard to imagine Kurt caring for people in general; he’s always been vocal about wanting to follow in Katara’s footsteps where healing’s concerned. But caring more about Blaine’s welfare — something doesn’t line up. Maybe Kurt’s simply concerned about the match, keen on collecting the winnings from the championship pot.

If Blaine doesn’t get back to practice soon, he will be letting the team down, Kurt included. 

He bites his lower lip. Maybe he can reassure Kurt later; if he’s forced onto the Council, he’ll have more than enough to help subsidize Kurt’s education.

Blaine can’t think of a much better use for the money, anyway.

“Oh,” he nods, still slightly confused. “Alright, I won’t say anything.”

Glancing up, Blaine’s cheeks flush over when he catches Katara gazing in his direction, all of her supplies already put away as she lowers herself into the seat across from the bed. However comforting her smile, Blaine can’t help but feel completely out of his element around her.

If his life’s been a trial, hers was doubly so.

“Now, if you ask me, that’s the face of a young man who has a lot more on his mind than Kurt Hummel’s affections,” Katara notes, hands folded neatly on her lap. “I still have some time before I’m due for the pier. Tell me, Blaine, is there anything you want to talk about?”

Blinking at her tone, Blaine quickly glances down at his hands, thumb pressing down the center of his palm and warming the skin. Firebending has been restricted during his bed rest, but sometimes Blaine can’t help but turn to a touch of it for comfort. “I’m pretty sure you already know why you were called in to look after me.”

Katara nods once, eyes briefly closing.

“Even without the sudden shift of seats on the Council, an injury like this would have brought all the media vulture eagles in,” Blaine says plainly. “I’ve tried to avoid thinking too much about it, but everything’s been forced right in front of my eyes. The Council might be able to meet once with an empty Fire Nation seat, but if it happens again — I mean, people are _right_ to worry. Our nation’s interests need to be represented. But I didn’t think all of this would happen so soon.”

His gaze flickers up when he hears Katara chuckle softly, her smile wider than before. “I’m sorry, Blaine, it’s just... you remind me a great deal of how my husband was shortly after we met,” she says, lips pursed in amusement.

Blaine’s expression falls. “Well, I-I’m honored to hear that, but.” He sighs, expression growing tight. Kind though it is to be compared to someone as accomplished as Avatar Aang, Blaine worries about the implications of her statement. Avatar Aang surely never asked for what came to him, and his friends have never been shy about telling the media of his hesitations during the war, but in the end, he stood tall and accepted his duties. Maybe Katara’s asking him to do the same.

“I guess you must think that I’m being a bit immature,” he says, hanging his head. “I know what my education all these years has been leading up to, and I know all the faith that’s been placed in me, I, I know they _need_ someone to—”

Raising a gentle hand, Katara shakes her head, and Blaine falls silent. “Blaine, I’m not suggesting that you must take the path that other people have marked for you.”

Eyes wide, Blaine bites down on his lower lip. “But isn’t that exactly what Avatar Aang did? Or yourself, Chief Katara, you went back to your people and helped rebuild the Southern Water Tribe from the ground up, and all of you were instrumental in overseeing the founding of the United Republic of Nations. Republic City wouldn’t be what it is now if all of you hadn’t stepped up.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that the history books have painted us in such a positive light,” Katara laughs, briefly placing a hand on her chest with a small breath. “But while it’s true that all of us have kept very busy over the years, it’s not always in ways people have expected. Chief Bei Fong was offered a chance to rebuild several Earth Kingdom cities from the ground up; she could have been one of the first women since Kyoshi to lead a province on her own. But Toph knew that so much bureaucracy would only frustrate her. The job of rebuilding the South Pole would traditionally have fallen to Sokka, but he elected to stay here, seeing the vast advancements in technology.”

Blaine feels his face flushing further still. In theory, he knows that the books couldn’t have been entirely accurate. It’s a lesson taught, even — that history is written by the victor.

But he’s always assumed there was enough truth in what he’s been taught.

“You see, all of us insisted on taking the paths we were most passionate about. Even Avatar Aang went against the advice of the whole world; instead of putting an end to Fire Lord Ozai’s life, Aang decided to spare him,” she says, pausing for a moment. As Blaine watches on, there’s no denying the look on her face, proud and loving. “So you see, Blaine, you’re actually pretty lucky. You have a voice that the people will listen to, but that doesn’t mean you have to say what they want to hear.”

He runs a thumb briefly over his brow. There’s a deep ache in his head, not quite painful, but noticeable all the same. If he takes Katara’s words to heart, then that means he needs to have a conversation with Wes.

Somehow, he doubts it’ll be an easy one.

“And judging by that look on your face, I’ve overtaxed you for today,” murmurs Katara, rising to her feet and crossing the room once more to press her lips against his forehead, directly above the dull throb. “I’ll talk to your people and make sure you’re allowed back at the gym first thing tomorrow, but for now, you should still rest.”

-

It quickly becomes apparent that being cleared for practice doesn’t mean Blaine will be seeing the inside of the gym any time soon.

Wes takes the news as indication that Blaine is ready to start making some of the decisions that are required by the Council.

There are strategy meetings to attend, people to meet, and election plans to finalize.

Aside from all the planning, Blaine still hasn’t spoken to Wes on a personal level since their screaming match a few nights ago. It feels a little like his life decided to pick up and continue on without him. He wonders how many decisions were made for him while he was unconscious. 

He’s sitting for portraits for campaign posters. He smiles when he’s told to and he’s kind to the staffers, but on the inside he’s growing steadily more displeased. 

Do they even need him? Everyone knows that Wes has always been the one pulling the strings behind the curtains. Blaine is a face, a name. Wes is a brilliant mind with a knack for both the press and politics. 

Even when Blaine is elected, Wes is still going to be the one running the show. Nothing’s going to change, and frankly, Blaine doesn’t want it to. He’s always been thankful for Wes. The man is always two steps ahead of everyone else. The Fire Nation couldn’t ask for a better representative for their country.

Unfortunately, they don’t _know_ to ask for Wes. 

-

_Councilman Qin stepping down, citing his recent illness. Fire Nation’s Blaine Anderson is rumored to be stepping into the interim election for Council chair any day now. If elected, Anderson will be the youngest Council chair in Republic City’s forty-eight year history._

\- 

Blaine feels like he’s taking off a costume when he tugs his dress shirt over his head. Increasingly, he’s been running late for practice. When he steps into the gym at last, Puck’s generally one to comment, even if Blaine’s only a few minutes late. Kurt, on the other hand, tends to keep quiet, simply continuing his exercises as Blaine settles in.

Sometimes, it feels like silent camaraderie between the both of them. Kurt has been balancing clinic work and practice for as long as he’s been on the team, so Blaine imagines he can probably relate. 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says as he enters the gym, his helmet hanging loosely at his side. He doesn’t usually wear it in practices, but given his injury, he’s been trying to be careful. “My meeting ran a little late.” 

“So is this going to be a thing?” Puck asks. “Because if it is, it’s only fair that you’re honest with us.” 

“I’m really hoping it’s not,” he replies, gripping his helmet a little tighter. He feels like he’s hanging onto what’s left of normalcy. “But it might happen more than I’d like it to.” 

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Kurt counters, shoulders squared as he waves a hand dismissively. “Come on, let’s stop wasting time.” 

-

_Dragonhawk Firebender Blaine Anderson was spotted leaving Shannon Beiste’s training facility earlier this morning. Despite rumors of long-term injury benching him for the season, it looks like this Hawk is back in the game. Will Council duties pull him away once again? PR agent Emma Pillsbury declined to comment._

-

Any of Blaine’s initial concerns about being left in Kurt’s care go right out the window after their first healing session. While his voice still carries a slight frantic edge to it, Kurt is able to focus on his work, diligently working with careful fingers even as he talks.

“Mmm, when Master Katara told me to keep an eye on your injury, I didn’t think I’d also be helping out with a crick in your neck,” Kurt muses, sliding onto the bed and nudging for Blaine to turn so that his back faces Kurt. Guiding the water back into the basin, Blaine inhales sharply when Kurt’s cold fingers start to massage at his neck, easing away the strain.

He exhales deeply. “Contrary to what Puck thinks, I’ve been training extra late at night to try and keep up with the both of you. It’s not the same as having us all in practice, but—” 

“Don’t listen to Puck,” Kurt says dismissively. Blaine catches a glimpse of a frown when he looks over his shoulder, and Kurt shrugs. “He’s just frustrated. He’ll get over it.”

“I don’t want to let you guys down,” Blaine admits. “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to juggle everything. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to make a decision.” 

“So, the Council or probending. What a glamorous choice,” Kurt teases, shifting on the bed with his legs curled to his side. 

Blaine rolls his eyes fondly. “I know, I must sound ridiculous.”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” Silently, Kurt continues kneading along the line of Blaine’s spine in soft, circular motions, before letting out a stilted chuckle, almost nervous. “You’d still have me, you know. If you picked the Council.”

Blaine remembers Katara’s words from earlier. He thinks back to Kurt’s red-rimmed eyes in the days after he woke up. 

“I wasn’t aware I had you.”

Kurt slips his hand into Blaine’s. It’s slightly colder than Blaine’s own, likely from his earlier healing, and Blaine lets a small shiver pass through his body at the contact. A few seconds pass with their fingers laced, but held slack, before Blaine carefully closes his hand around Kurt’s, warmth emanating from his palm.

Blaine turns to face Kurt, their hands still joined. 

It’s almost funny how few words they’ve shared in comparison to all the other conversations Blaine’s had as of late, yet somehow, that single sentence and the gentle weight of Kurt’s hand on his own speaks volumes. For what feels like an eternity, they sit, small liberties taken turn by turn. Kurt’s thumb brushing along the side of his palm, or Blaine’s fingertips pressing against the rise and fall of Kurt’s knuckles. Blaine still can’t stop _thinking_ , knowing that he’ll have to stand in front of the Council later that afternoon, and not knowing what he’ll say to Wes, if anything at all.

The difference is, he suddenly feels like he can breathe with the ally he knows he’s found today.

It surprises him to catch Kurt’s gaze on him when Blaine looks up at last. The clock ticking in the background is far too slow to match the thud of his heart. His eyes skirt over the sharp blue of Kurt’s own, like the ocean far out at sea, then over the freckles barely visible over his warm complexion. He never noticed them before. Nor the way Kurt’s breath feels as it fans over his lips, warmer than Blaine expected.

Oh.

 _Affectionate_.

Fingers squeezing tightly around Kurt’s hand, Blaine leans forward, barely catching sight of Kurt’s lashes fanning down. When their lips meet, it’s soft, but sure, sudden warmth splaying across his cheek when Kurt raises his hand to rest over it, fingers tracing the line of Blaine’s jaw. He can’t tell whose breath shudders, but the rush of air alone has him reaching out for Kurt’s chin, tilting it just enough that lips part with an inquisitive gasp.

Suddenly, Kurt surges forward, his mouth closing around Blaine’s upper lip and pulling slowly, until the both of them are forced apart by a sharp knock.

Wes, probably. Blaine hangs his head as the both of them lean back, turning simultaneously towards the door.

“Blaine,” says Wes, voice terse as he turns on his heel.

“Hello to you too,” breathes Blaine in an undertone, eyes cast down on the bed before he hesitantly meets Kurt’s gaze again. “Sorry about that, but I...”

Kurt shakes his head in understanding.

“Good luck today,” Kurt stammers, face flushing as his lips turn up into a smile. “At the meeting.”

-

_With the interim election days away, Blaine Anderson is set to meet with the current Councilmembers today. The details of the meeting are confidential. Press conference Councilwoman Keelut to follow immediately._

-

Blaine isn’t allowed to speak in the meeting, seeing as his place isn’t official. It is customary for potential candidates to sit in on a session, to get a feel for what goes on behind closed doors. 

He isn’t supposed to speak, but after twenty minutes he is asked what he thinks on the topic of the election.

“Well, I...” He looks around the table at the faces of the experienced Councilmembers. “I hope we can run a good race, and whoever wins, I hope we make certain that the Fire Nation’s seat doesn’t sit empty for too long.” 

“Master Anderson,” Councilwoman Keelut, a small woman from the Northern Water Tribe, pipes up. “You’re running unopposed. The election is a formality.” 

The words leave Blaine stunned. Unopposed? He knew that his seat on the Council was something of a certainty, but typically there was a quiet opposition. Someone to run a non-threatening race to keep up the illusion of democracy. 

Wes hadn’t told him. 

Blaine hadn’t even thought to ask about it. 

He doesn’t stick around long after the meeting. He feels more like a placeholder than ever. His presence in the chambers is hardly needed.

He isn’t sure of Wes’s reason for withholding this information. He’s thankful for having the walk home to collect his thoughts, because the only thing Blaine wants right now is to give Wes a piece of his mind.


	8. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the posting break between chapters. The final chapter and news about book two should be up by the end of the week. Thank you for taking this journey with us. :)

Sandy beaches delighted Kurt the first time he made his way over to Air Temple Island, reveling in the stretch of white as far as he could see and the lapping of water against the shore, warm enough for him to wade through. These days, the novelty’s worn off. With the Air Nomads barely starting to congregate as a community, every small change in Republic City keeps the residents occupied. Even with Zhuzi wading through the water and Tenzin living nearby, the experience grows lonely.

It’s the first day Kurt has had away from the gym and clinic in weeks, and he knows he shouldn’t complain. More than anything else, though, he finds himself wishing that he could find a spare moment with Blaine, wishes he could do something to settle the butterflies in his stomach. Unfortunately, Blaine has been ushered in and out of meetings all day. It’s nothing new.

They still haven’t talked since the kiss. 

He wiggles his toes a little, digging them down into the sand. Watching Zhuzi splash around a few yards away, Kurt feels an irrational surge of jealousy — although grateful for all the water, the island’s still too warm to remind him of home.

“You’re quiet.” 

Turning to face Lin, Kurt lets his gaze linger for a moment. Her head is resting in Tenzin’s lap, a few wildflowers tucked into her long, dark hair. 

“I’m tired,” he replies, glancing back up at the sky. 

Part of his exhaustion is from trying not to smile like an idiot with the memory of Blaine’s lips still fresh on his mind. Every time he catches Lin and Tenzin share a quick kiss, he finds himself smiling instead of scowling, cheeks sore with the effort.

As tenuous as his situation with Blaine is, Kurt finds it easier to turn his thoughts onto his own life. Months of politics in all aspects of his life, from probending to the Council, has worn Kurt’s patience a little thin. Even thinking too much about Tenzin and Lin tugs at a knot in his chest.

He doesn’t understand why they put so much effort into something with a deadline.

Does his time with Blaine have a similar time limit? 

“How’s Blaine?” Tenzin asks, sending Kurt’s cheeks into an immediate, heated flush. 

“Who told you?” 

Kurt realizes too late that Tenzin’s question had been innocent.

“Aren’t you still taking care of his healing sessions?”

“I knew it,” Lin smirks, turning to rest her cheek against Tenzin’s robes. “So transparent.” 

Kurt rolls onto his stomach and stares out into the ocean, waves lapping underneath the stone Lin skips over the water. “It doesn’t count if you use bending, you know,” he remarks, carefully dodging their teases. The memory of Blaine’s kiss isn’t something he doesn’t want to taint with public opinion just yet.

With a flick of his hand, Kurt pulls the water towards the shore, sinking Lin’s rock. 

“Hey, I thought you said no bending!” she scowls. 

“Well, if you’re going to cheat, I’m going to cheat back.” 

Lin laughs, and it’s not long before Tenzin joins in. Kurt smiles back at his friends, feeling lighter than he has in days. 

Sometimes, the island feels like a place where time has stopped. It’s nice, but it can’t last. Kurt has responsibilities back on the mainland. Escaping these responsibilities can be thrilling at first, but the novelty always wears off before long. 

-

Reality crashes back into place as soon as Kurt steps inside the clinic, surrounded by a constant bustle of footsteps and running water. He finally finds the time for a breather when he settles down for lunch, massaging at his temples as he seats himself in the corner of the room. 

“No one here _cares_ that you trained under Katara,” Harmony announces without preamble, striding into the room with her arms crossed over a clipboard that she holds to her chest. Kurt drops his hands from his bag, staring evenly as a couple of clinicians slip quickly out of the room.

Harmony isn’t one to hold back on her opinions. Normally, Kurt would appreciate that in a person.

But not when it comes to Harmony.

“Okay?” Unimpressed, Kurt turns his gaze back to Harmony and settles his chin in the palm of his hand. It’s been weeks since Kurt held any hope of holding Katara’s influence over the clinic, but for some reason, Harmony continues to bring the topic up whenever she has the chance. Almost as though she feels the need to step on someone else to make it up the ranks in the city clinic. “I think I’m well aware of that fact already.”

“All I’m saying is that you’re going to have a hard time finding someone to mentor you here, considering what you do for fun in your free time,” continues Harmony, digging through the ice box and unearthing a bottle of banana juice. 

Kurt crosses his arms, tempted to lash out and correct her on the idea that probending was a pastime picked up for fun. But for all the movement that the founding of the United Republic was supposed to encourage, Kurt knows that most people never move far away from where their family’s roots began. The people living in downtown Republic City are wealthy, descended from the nobles of the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation; income’s never a problem for the majority of them.

It’s not always worth the effort to correct them.

“That’s fine. Anyone who is going to judge me for how I finance my training isn’t worth my time. Besides,” he leans a little closer, so the healers around them can’t hear. “I would worry more about you, Harmony. You can hardly take care of a minor cut some days.” 

With a last look at Harmony’s expression, Kurt grins to himself. Working in the clinic has been easier ever since Kurt stopped trying to prove himself to people who don’t matter. That includes Harmony. 

He hasn’t spent a lot of time figuring out what he wants to do after his training. In the back of his mind, the plan had always been to find a way back to the South Pole, even if it meant leaving his father, but over the past few months, Kurt has made connections in the city. More and more, he’s starting to realize that he has people he would miss.

-

“Emma says we should be able to get some better sponsorships soon.”

“Yeah.”

“Should help with our share of the championship pot.”

“Sure.” 

“I was thinking we could change the mascot to a baby turtleduck. Something a little less threatening.”

“What?” 

Kurt glances up in time to watch Puck roll his eyes as he leans back against his locker. “Seriously? That’s what gets your attention? Blaine, I know you have a lot going on right now, but Emma and everyone are saying we have to figure out a game plan for after the championship. If we win, things are going to be different.” 

Catching the sight of Puck glancing over for support, Kurt quickly drops his gaze down to his knees; sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Blaine and Puck were around as a team before Kurt joined. Even though Puck’s mentioned before how the team flew through waterbenders every month before Kurt signed onto his contract, Kurt wasn’t around back then. It doesn’t seem fair for him to chime in, and he’s never been the biggest fan of getting involved in a matter between friends; carefully, Kurt steps to the side, deciding to slip out of the gym.

“I mean, I know you two have all of your plans, but this is all I got.”

So much for staying uninvolved. 

“You always said I would be the first to know if you were quitting.” Puck pulls a newspaper clipping out of his pocket and shoves it in Blaine’s face. “Now, I know these papers are nothing but crap, but sometimes they manage to hit the nail on the head.” Puck balls up the paper and throws it on the ground. He shoves past Kurt on the way out of the locker room.

Kurt leans down to pick up the paper, trying to ignore the way his stomach suddenly drops. 

The headline reads ‘ANDERSON TO QUIT THE HAWKS.’ 

“You’re not leaving, are you?” 

Blaine shrugs. “I haven’t decided anything, but it wouldn’t be the first time something’s been decided for me.” His crosses his arms, shoulders slumping. “A lot of people have been making decisions for me lately. You’re the exception.” 

As comforted as Kurt is by the fact that Blaine doesn’t view him as a meddler, Kurt wonders nonetheless if now’s the time to talk to Blaine about the kiss. He goes back and forth on the issue; as silly as it seems to focus so much on a kiss in the midst of all the turmoil on the Council, Kurt doesn’t want to let it all fade entirely into the background. Sometimes, it feels like Blaine tries to run away from all of his troubles.

At least he’s not feigning amnesia.

Catching another heaved sigh from Blaine, Kurt raises his chin slightly and waves for Blaine to scoot over and make room on the locker room bench. Although he raises a brow in surprise, Blaine obliges.

“You have to promise me that you won’t get mad at Wes for this,” says Kurt first, holding an even gaze.

“That sounds promising.”

“I never said that I wouldn’t meddle in your affairs when they involve me in some manner. Being your healer means that I get to fuss over what’s giving you grief. Deal with it,” Kurt asserts, his tone still soft and quiet. “Look, Wes was really scared when you were unconscious. And I don’t mean simply that he was worried about you as a friend; his face was literally as white as a polar bear dog for a few days. He told me about how your whole life path’s been paved ahead of you, that everyone’s been trying to set you up for this position since the day you were born.”

“The day they gave up on my brother being in politics, you mean.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Semantics. Anyway, all I ever hear you say with regards to this job is how people have been tugging you around like a puppet, that Wes calls all the shots, right?”

Hesitantly, Blaine nods.

“But they still chose _you_ to be the figurehead. Not Wes. So why’s that? Why were you chosen instead of Wes, Blaine?”

“Because I’m from a noble family and Wes isn’t, because I’m a bender and Wes isn’t, because in spite of the fact that he’s _just_ as qualified to take the job, I’m the one they listen to.” 

“Well?”

Blaine’s eyes widen slightly in realization. “Because... they listen to _me_ ,” he says again, his words finally sinking in. 

Kurt can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, rocking slightly on his seat with the pleasure of having opened Blaine’s eyes a little more. As hard as it might be for Blaine to come forward and choose the opposite of what people have wanted and expected of him, the fact still remains that Blaine has a greater chance of making a difference than anyone else their age. Maybe even more than anyone else who stands a chance of being appointed to the Council.

The space between the boys grows quiet as Blaine stares down at his palms, flexing his fingers inside their protective gloves. Only after a few moments does Blaine glance up again, eyes fixed on Kurt, wide and unreadable.

“Kurt, thank you.” 

Before Kurt has the chance to reply, Puck bursts into the locker room and shrugs his uniform on, just in time to catch the blaring of the announcer over the stadium.

-

It’s their first match since Blaine’s been cleared to play again. Kurt thought he would be more nervous, but he’s too focused on the opposing team’s waterbender to keep too close of an eye on Blaine.

Kurt is loving the crowd this time around. The blue flags he catches out of the corner of his eye, the shouts of _Dragonhawks_. Their quick rise this season is a mix of Blaine’s notoriety and their team’s undeniable talent. 

There’s no tiebreaker. It’s not even close. The Badgerfrogs are leaving the arena almost as quickly as they entered it. 

Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and raises their joined hands in the air, everything moving so fast that Kurt doesn’t have time to worry about the flush that spreads over his face. The crowd cheers. 

They’re going to the semi-finals. 

-

Blaine follows Kurt to the elevator to retrieve Zhuzi. It’s the first match that Kurt has felt comfortable bringing her to. 

When the platform reaches the water, Zhuzi is quick to swim over and climb on. 

The ride back to the top is quiet now that the roar of the crowd has subsided. The adrenaline from the match is quickly fading, and Kurt feels his chest constrict, too aware of the small space he’s sharing with Blaine. Turning to the side, Kurt nearly jumps when he catches Blaine’s gaze on him.

“Do you think I could see you tonight?” Blaine asks tentatively.

“I would love to,” Kurt blurts out quickly.

Blaine’s face lights up immediately with a relieved laugh. “That’s great—”

“I-I mean, I would love to, but I have to work.” 

“Right,” Blaine nods, quickly looking away.

Even though he feels a touch of satisfaction at the disappointment reading clear all over Blaine’s expression, Kurt feels bad about having to turn him down. He bites down on his lower lip, watching Blaine busy himself with his uniform, loosening the plates and pads. The right words don’t come quite yet, but Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine understands. With everyone at the clinic already doubting Kurt’s drive, the last thing he needs is for them to believe that he’s skipped work for the probending after parties. 

When they reach the top, Kurt notices that Zhuzi has wrapped herself around Blaine’s leg.

“Sorry,” Kurt says, leaning down to detach her and wincing at the way Zhuzi’s claws dig more insistently into Blaine’s pant leg. “She tends to do that.” 

Blaine doesn’t seem to mind too much, grinning down as though amused. “It’s fine. I have a feeling Thomas and her would get along. He does the same thing most mornings.”

“How does Thomas feel about water?”

Once he manages to pry Zhuzi’s paws away, Kurt immediately scoops her up. 

Blaine considers it for a minute, leaning down to brush lightly at his uniform. “Yeah, on second thought, it might be best to keep them apart.” 

“Maybe,” Kurt laughs. Zhuzi’s tucks her head against Kurt’s shoulder pad. “Raincheck, yeah? I’d like to see you still, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” 

He doesn’t remind Blaine that they still need to talk, but he hopes it’s implied. 

-

A shift at the clinic isn’t the most glamorous way to spend the evening after a victory, but it pays the bills. 

“Wow, Kurt, I’m surprised that they put you on basin duty today.”

With a heavy sigh, Kurt settles the latest container carefully on the floor and tugs off his gloves, settling them to the side as he offers Tina a smile. While his fellow healer in training seems content to skate on the regular curriculum and obey the orders of the higher staff at the clinic, it’s the time they spend alone together that Kurt tries to focus on. Enough of the same problems plague them that their talks tend to be fairly cathartic; if Kurt’s lucky, Tina feels bend-happy enough to do most of the cleaning left over for the training students.

Today, she seems calm for the most part, snapping on her gloves before taking on Kurt’s half-finished container.

“What, are you telling me that Harmony hasn’t been complaining to everyone about how I throw Chief Katara’s name everywhere?” Kurt asks, groaning as he settles back fully into a seat. “No, of course I’m on basin duty. If anything, I think Harmony tries harder to keep me here than most.”

Laughing softly, Tina shakes her head. “No, Kurt, that’s not what I meant. Your probending team successfully made it to the semifinals, right? Kurt, at worst you’re in the top _four_ probending teams in all the world.”

“So how again does this relate to getting off basin duty?”

“Well, you don’t really need to stay here at the clinic anymore, right?” asks Tina, giving Kurt a prolonged look before bending the contents of the basin away and into the underground plumbing. “I mean, you’re pretty much set for the next several years’ worth of sponsorships now. Besides, I don’t really see your team getting _worse_ with how well you guys work together. Most benders’ prime doesn’t hit until age twenty-five, anyway.”

“Tina, I’m not in healing for the money. I know that it’s lucrative here, but my goal has always been to learn enough to keep the people I love safe. You know that; I haven’t exactly been quiet about it.” 

“I suppose. I’m just surprised, considering that you’d make enough from being a finalist to hire more than your share of personal healers and nurses, if you want,” Tina points out, stacking the bins off to the side. “Your job would be so much less stressful. Don’t you ever wonder if maybe that’s the better path for you?”

Kurt realizes suddenly that he hasn’t been breathing well during Tina’s words, chest screaming for air as he hiccups once, cursing the way his heart suddenly thuds against his chest. For all that Blaine’s future has been up in the air these past few weeks, Kurt has a few decisions of his own to make, all the clearer since Puck pointed out that he deserved an answer from both of his teammates.

Does he want to continue juggling his athletic career with a potential mentorship in the future?

And whatever he decides, is it the best choice for his dad?

(Does he even want to stay on the Dragonhawks if Blaine leaves?)

“I haven’t really,” Kurt says softly, shaking his head. “I’ve been so busy balancing these jobs that I never stopped to wonder if I should be reevaluating my life.”

He wishes Katara were still in the city to offer her guidance. Selfishly, he had wished that she would find a way to stay around longer in the wake of Blaine’s accident. 

Katara would never have been forced to choose, Kurt thinks. Somehow, she found a way to do it all - parenthood, healing, and tribe leadership. 

Kurt feels like he’ll be lucky if he manages to make it to finals.

-

Kurt hears the noise before he even leaves the building, voices clashing in the distance, like static Kurt prepares himself to drown out. The clinic is in one of the noisier boroughs of the city, but it’s never been this loud. 

At this point, Kurt simply wants to get home. If the match left him feeling worn out, then adding a graveyard shift directly after has brought him right to the point of exhaustion. 

Pushing open the heavy clinic doors, Kurt finds himself suddenly hit by a wave of voices as a crowd of reporters hover around him in a wide arc. The camera flashes nearly blind him as he stumbles down the front steps, and the sound of the shutters brings him back to the night Blaine was attacked. Kurt feels his hands clenching into fists at his sides, jaw locking in distaste.

“Mister Hummel! Any comments about Blaine Anderson’s nomination of Wesley Sung for Councilman for the Fire Nation?” 

He shields his eyes from the flashes, and pushes through the crowd. “Does this mean Blaine Anderson will be joining you for the semifinals?”

-

_Wesley Sung takes seat as the first nonbender councilmember in over a decade. The last seated nonbender on the council was Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Blaine Anderson’s name was initially on the ballot, but he stepped down, citing personal reasons. Sung, Anderson’s former mentor, could not be reached for comment._

-

Kurt wonders how history will paint Blaine. The spoiled boy who gave up power for a sport? Katara often mentions the kind brush her and her friends were painted with. He worries history might not remember Blaine as nicely. 

Even if he put the right person in power.

-

He takes every sideroad he can to Blaine’s apartment on the other side of the city. Leading the reporters to Blaine’s is the last thing he wants to do. Fortunately, by the time he arrives at Blaine’s doorstep, the street is quiet, empty save for the occasional passerby. Quietly, Kurt makes his way up the stairs, eyes skirting over the stretch of shadows, and the heavy hang of the moon in the sky settles into his skin like a reassuring embrace.

The last time he was here, Kurt only lingered outside of the door long enough to overhear Blaine’s argument with Wes. 

How long has this been coming? Were Kurt’s words the final nudge Blaine needed to make his move?

Seconds after Kurt’s knock, the door slides open to reveal Blaine. Kurt wonders if Blaine was expecting him. 

“What did you do?” Kurt blurts out. The question is completely rhetorical; he knows what Blaine’s done. “There were reporters at the clinic, Blaine.” Still babbling as Blaine leads him inside, Kurt’s hands gesticulate wildly as Blaine’s settle on top of his shoulders, pivoting both of them away from the front door. “This wasn’t for me, was it? Because if it was for me, that’s very flattering, but I don’t think I’m worth risking the future of an entire nation.”

Blaine takes a seat on the couch, patting the cushion next to his spot. Beside him, Thomas lets out a quiet mew, slowly raising a paw and hooking his claws over Blaine’s knee. 

“It wasn’t for you.” 

As he takes a seat beside Blaine, Kurt tries to hide some of his relief. Looking too relieved might come off as rude. 

“It was something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. You just showed me that I could do it.” He takes Kurt’s hand. In the past, Kurt might have startled at Blaine’s warmth. Now, he’s grown used to it. “You’re incredible, Kurt. You manage to find a way to care _so_ much about people while still not having a damn what half of them think. I’ve always admired you so much for that.” 

“I _may_ have found you a little annoying at first,” Kurt admits, nose wrinkling in a smile. He brushes the thumb of his free hand against Blaine’s wrist. 

“Okay, I might have found you a little... prickly, initially, but my point about the admiration still stands.” 

Kurt raises a brow. 

“Maybe _very_ prickly,” he chuckles. “You’re just so stubborn.” 

“I’m told that I take after Katara in that sense.” 

They fall into silence, the apartment quiet around them. Kurt assumes Wes is out. A last minute nomination is the sort of thing to warrant an emergency meeting, he’s sure. 

“What now?” Kurt asks. 

“We win the championship, and I support Wes however I can.” After a pause, Blaine shyly glances up to meet Kurt’s gaze. “I seem to remember something about me still having you.”

Inwardly groaning, Kurt shifts on the couch, although he doesn’t pull his hand away. “I still have no idea what came over me that day.” 

“It’s a good story,” Blaine says, leaning forward to tuck a strand of Kurt’s dark hair behind his ear. “I was injured in the heat of the battle—”

“—the game, you mean.”

“You ran after my attackers, thirsting for vengeance.”

“Chief Bei Fong pulled me off of him before I could really do any damage.” 

“Cared for me on my deathbed.” 

“Okay, _that_ part’s a little true.” It was mostly Katara’s doing, but Kurt doesn’t mind taking a little credit. 

Behind Blaine, Thomas lets out a displeased hiss. Kurt figures he had been napping, because moments later, the sloth cat hops off the couch and sulks up the stairs. 

“You’re amazing. We’re going to win this thing. I feel like... this is all going to work out.” 

Blaine’s words are so nice that Kurt can’t find it in himself to argue. It all feels too convenient, too neatly wrapped up. 

Today is full of victories. They won the match, Blaine took control of his future. Why can’t they have this too?

It’s not clear which of them moves first. Truth be told, Kurt prefers to think that this choice, more than any other they’ve made, is one shared between the both of them. His heart pounds in his chest, lungs tight and screaming for air, and it’s uncomfortable before he feels his lips press against Blaine’s again, and Kurt inhales as he feels along the soft curve of Blaine’s mouth. Just a few days, and still Kurt already feels like he’s learning this kiss for the first time, shivering when Blaine passes a hand over the curve of his shoulder.

Kurt’s pretty sure this is the first time anyone’s made him shiver.

Try as he might to keep calm, Kurt soon finds himself interrupting the kiss with laughter, surging forward to try and recapture the full curve of Blaine’s lower lip. He just can’t stop _thinking_ , not even about them or the situation, but about the tiniest of details. Things that don’t matter now. He can’t stop thinking about how glad he is that Thomas already departed for the evening. The idea of having to pause to relocate Blaine’s clingy sloth cat doesn’t sound like much fun.

Blaine, on the other hand, lets out a slightly frustrated grunt as he slips off the edge of the couch, arms wrapping around Kurt’s waist to tug him along.

Kurt laughs harder, nerves bundled and twisting in his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” asks Blaine, and Kurt can feel the frown on his face when Blaine’s nose brushes along the line of Kurt’s jaw. Blaine doesn’t pull back, as though trying not to lose the heat of the moment.

Relaxing slightly into the hold, Kurt buries his nose against Blaine’s temple. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The tension eases out of their bodies then, a slow and sure crumbling of walls between them as Blaine brushes a palm up the side of Kurt’s neck to turn his head until their lips hover inches away from one another, never quite meeting.

In all the stories, this is when they’re supposed to share a few words, Kurt thinks. Something about what they mean to each other, or a reminder of how they’ll hold fast no matter how much the Council may try to disrupt their lives. But more than anything else, he feels tired of talking. Tired of thinking. And Blaine’s hands smooth over his chest, skirting momentarily to brush just above the beat of his heart.

He tries to think about how he feels for Blaine in this moment. It could be love, but he isn’t sure. It’s the beginning of something, something he hasn’t let himself try to decipher just yet. Telling Blaine that he’s grown fond of him doesn’t sound romantic enough, so Kurt opts to stay silent. 

The only sound comes from the clashing of breath and stumbling of steps as the pair of them head back in the direction of Blaine’s room. Robes hang heavily over their shoulders, threatening to slip off with the movement, but Kurt tugs them fiercely back on until they step over the line of Blaine’s room — whatever this is, it isn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. It’s just them.

A brush of Blaine’s lips against his collarbone pulls a sigh from Kurt’s lips, his own fingers sneaking underneath the hem of fabric until he meets the sash tied tightly around Blaine’s waist. With a grin, he settles back onto the bed with a bounce, one end of the sash wrapped around his hand as he gives a sharp tug. Limbs tangle as Blaine falls forward onto the bed.

“ _Ow_. What are you doing, Hummel, trying to make up for our opponents’ incompetence in the ring tonight?”

“It’s good to step into another person’s shoes on occasion, isn’t it?” Kurt grins, grabbing onto Blaine’s robes and pulling again, both of them shifting awkwardly over the bed until Kurt rests his head heavily against Blaine’s pillow. “Maybe I’m weighing my options. There might be another team willing to pay me more.”

With another huff, Blaine slides himself further on top of Kurt, hips driving down to pin their bodies against the sheets. It’s nothing more than a tease, but Kurt’s breath catches when he glimpses into Blaine’s eyes, dark and almost glowing in the dim light, embers from a flame.

“I’m kidding,” Kurt breathes.

Blaine drops his head down until their foreheads meet, nodding with a soft press to Kurt’s skin. “I know. But I’m not laughing.”

“You have me.”

“I have you.”

The softness from the words is gone, hidden somewhat behind a frenzy of nerves and tension letting out in waves. Kurt recognizes a rush of adrenaline lingering still after their match, and finds the movement of their bodies familiar, in tandem as his arms wrap slowly around Blaine’s back, tracing down the length of his spine.

He’s never been with anyone quite like this, but underneath it all lies a familiar vein of trust, one that Kurt realizes he handed over to Blaine a long time ago.

Lifting himself off of the bed and pressing their bodies flush, Kurt kisses Blaine again, desperate and seeking, the sheets slipping down along their skin until they shiver upon meeting the night air.


	9. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been our absolute pleasure to share this verse with you, and we thank all the people who have followed us on this journey. Thank you, Janine, for all of your supporting. (And humoring us.) We hope you enjoy this final chapter — and we have a little surprise in store at the very end. As always, all comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Light floods in through the windows, the rise of the sun settling over Blaine’s skin with a soft, encouraging energy as he takes a deep breath, his cheek pressing reluctantly against his pillow. As he stretches, Thomas bats at one of Blaine’s feet with a disgruntled huff, and Blaine finds himself smiling even before he opens his eyes. 

For the most part, it’s not an unusual start to the morning, but he feels a warmth pressed up against his side, a sharp reminder of the events of the previous evening. This — waking up with another person in his bed — is different.

He could get used to this. 

“Good morning,” Blaine says, his voice still rough with sleep as he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to the upper curve of Kurt’s cheekbone. 

“Morning,” Kurt murmurs back, groaning as he turns around, back suddenly facing Blaine as Kurt does his best to avoid the sun. The fact that Kurt’s having a little more trouble waking isn’t a surprise; the sun is a firebender’s best asset, but waterbenders tend to be most active under the pull of the moon. 

Last night had been wonderful. A little fumbling, but still so sweet. There were times when Blaine felt like he was tripping over himself from holding back for so long, stumbling to make up for lost time, for nearly missed opportunities. Even now, with Kurt turned away, Blaine can’t help but pull closer, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist with a small smile on his lips.

Before he notices the footfalls drawing closer to his room, the door slides open to reveal Wes looking less than pleased, and suddenly, Blaine wants to die. 

“So, this is your idea of a fun night spent after throwing me to the wolves?” 

“I—” Blaine begins, trying to find a way to explain that this hadn’t been planned. That this isn’t what it looks like. He comes up with nothing, grateful that Kurt somehow manages to feign sleep at his side; both Blaine and Wes grew up in politics, but Kurt was never meant for it.

“I need to speak with you downstairs.” Wes turns and leaves them alone, leaving Blaine to slump thankfully, tugging up the sheets. He and Kurt had fallen asleep very, very naked. 

Yanking on his robe, Blaine leans over to kiss Kurt on the forehead. With a nervous glance towards the door, Kurt sits up at last, offering a quietly inquisitive look. Somehow, Blaine feels like he’s being asked a question he still can’t quite start to answer. “You can wash up in my bathroom,” he decides with a slight shake of his head. “Hopefully this won’t take long.” 

“You look nervous,” Kurt notes. His knees are pulled up to his chest, covered only by a thin sheet. He looks sleep rumpled and adorable, and Blaine wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed with him.

“That’s because I am.”

“It’s all going to work out, remember?” 

Blaine remembers his words from last night and chuckles. If only he had saved some of their sureness for this conversation. “Right.” 

Tying his sash neatly around his waist, Blaine slides the bedroom door gently closed behind him, and leans against it for a moment. He wonders if Kurt will go back to sleep, if Thomas will crawl up the bed to curl up in the spot Blaine vacated. 

He doesn’t let himself daydream for too long, though. Wes is waiting for him.

-

“I’m starting to think that you meant for me to find you two like that.” 

“I swear, Wes. It wasn’t intentional. Kurt came by after work and we lost track of time.”

“I’ll say.” He sighs, massaging his temples, and no matter how understanding Blaine knows Wes is trying to be, there’s a sharpness to his tone that Blaine hasn’t heard that often over the years. “I saw this coming, but I thought you two might be a little more discreet.”

The idea of hiding even longer than they have causes Blaine to bristle, shoulders tensing as he glares down into his teapot, warming it with a quick brush of his hands. “Why? For my career? I don’t know if you noticed, but it isn’t exactly a _concern_ of mine anymore.”

“It wouldn’t have killed you to think about it, Blaine,” Wes retorts, back straight, expression severe — and as cold as the expression is, Blaine can’t help but observe how much more capable Wes looks at first glance. “I mean, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Things are fragile in Republic City. They always have been. All it’s going to take is one wrong decision to send things spiraling into utter chaos. The city doesn’t need any more surprises right now.” 

“Don’t you think that I’ve been paying attention in these meetings?” Blaine pulls himself to full height, careful not to spill any tea as he pours cups for the both of them. “The nonbenders of Republic City don’t feel as though their interests are being represented. What better way to remedy that than to appoint a nonbender to the Council?” 

“And what if one isn’t enough? What if they call for a re-election of the other chairs to guarantee equal representation? You have no idea what you’ve started here, Blaine.”

There’s something about Wes’ tone that sits uncomfortably in Blaine’s chest, like he’s making concessions before his term is even underway. Blaine has seen enough of politics to know that compromises are always necessary, and that the ideal from any single person’s perspective can never be fully achieved, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling frustrated whenever people give up without a fight.

It’s funny, because that’s exactly what he did before Kurt nudged him in the right direction, and already he finds himself wishing that other people could realize the error of their ways.

Some things are worth fighting for.

“Maybe it was something that’s needed to happen for a long time,” Blaine points out quietly.

To his surprise, Wes nods. “You may be right,” he says, sounding more tired than he has all morning. “But that doesn’t mean these people are going to be receptive to change. The last thing we need is for benders to pit themselves against nonbenders. The city would crumble.” 

“We get along well enough,” Blaine tries to joke, offering a hesitant smile. 

After holding his gaze, Wes gives Blaine’s shoulder a small squeeze. “You mean so well, Blaine. You always have.” He sounds like he’s finally starting to calm down. “It’s becoming clear that you wouldn’t have been right for the job.”

“Why’s that?” Blaine asks curiously. 

“You want what’s best for people. We both know that isn’t how things work around here.”

Somehow, as Blaine watches Wes stand to leave, he’s not sure if either of them won the conversation.

-

“We lucked out,” Puck announces loudly as he strides into the practice room, waving a large scroll in the air as he clears some of the discs away from the center of the room.

Blaine arches a brow from where he’s been sitting off to the side with Kurt with his arm draped over Kurt’s shoulders. After a tumultuous few weeks dealing with the Council and his injuries, it’s been hard to work up too much stress about probending, and their practice has fallen slightly to the wayside. Blaine can’t bring himself to feel remorse about that, though Puck’s presence does send a twinge of guilt through his stomach. Clearing his throat, he picks himself up from the bench, holding a hand out for Kurt.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“The Sparrowkeets somehow managed to beat the Golden Temple Tigerdillos. Don’t ask me how, ‘cause all the bets were hanging on the Tigerdillos; people thought they had this whole tournament, easy,” says Puck, eagerly spreading out the scroll on the ground, showing the potential upcoming matches with plenty of Beiste’s scrawls to either side. “Man, even I thought we’d be toast if we ever went up against them, but apparently that earthbender kid on the Sparrowkeets, Trent, he’s got somethin’ interesting up his sleeve. Plays like he’d be a good sandbender, from what I’ve heard.”

Kurt grins, leaning in to whisper against Blaine’s ear, “Looks like your decision made _someone_ very happy.”

“I heard that,” Puck replies, glancing up at the pair of them, expression neutral for a few seconds before splitting into a wide, encouraging grin. “And I’m happy for the both of you, and it’s about friggin’ time you two figured things out, but can we get back to figuring out how we’re gonna pummel these guys or what?”

It doesn’t take long for all three of them to squat on the ground, bent over their notes when Beiste comes in with sandwiches for all of them, and somewhere between the teases and laughter, Blaine feels like he’s found a home.

-

The Sparrowkeets are better than any of them expected the team to be. Although they’re new to the circuit, it’s clear that they’ve trained together often, the trio of them like a well-oiled machine. They know just how much space to give one another, they offer just enough cues that they predict one another’s movements, and none of the three are lacking in sheer power.

But it doesn’t take long to notice that the teamwork isn’t organic, and that’s where Blaine feels that they have the advantage.

Although earthbenders tend to pit against one another quickly in the ring, a few minutes quickly reveals that Puck’s more solid way of playing doesn’t fare well against Trent, whose actions are nuanced and quickly altered, like the slip of water. All it takes is a disc slamming into Puck from behind for Kurt to jump ahead to the task, sending a jet of water out and aimed down at Trent’s ankles.

And instead of yelling in anger, as he might have months ago, Blaine’s heart leaps when he notices Puck coming up to support Kurt, standing a few inches behind and blocking any attacks to Kurt with carefully aimed discs.

Concentration used to be the name of the game, but Blaine swears that his fire burns brighter in today’s match, flames licking out in torrents as he knocks one player, then another over their side of the ring.

Puck roars his approval when they win the third match, reaching out to cuff Blaine in the side and pulling him into a tight embrace.

Blaine’s pretty sure that he hears Puck mutter a quiet thanks in the middle of the uproar.

Off to the side, Kurt smiles, then turns to wave at the crowd.

-

“What are you doing — _Blaine!_ ”

Pulling up behind Kurt and weaving his arms around Kurt’s waist, Blaine offers a quiet shush, then drops a soft kiss to the base of Kurt’s neck. “You should be proud of me,” he jokes, reaching out through rising steam for their bar of soap. “Two people showering together, that _has_ to save water.”

With a laugh, Kurt wrinkles his nose and tries to pull away, only to sigh when Blaine pulls him closer again.

It’s not that Blaine means to be inappropriate.

It’s not that the setting matters.

But there’s this constant thud of his heart inside his chest, and it threatens to spill over, and all of his emotions with it, and the only way Blaine can think of to keep himself anchored is to pull close to Kurt, reveling in the closeness and reluctant to let it go now that he knows Kurt so well.

“Well, we can’t spend all day in here. We just won a match, Blaine, the press is waiting outside for us—”

“—let them wait?”

Blaine feels the moment is worth it for Kurt’s laugh alone, pivoting him around until they’re facing one another and ducking in for a soft, slow kiss.

It’s nice, feeling as though they have time.

-

Wes doesn’t seem as fortunate. It isn’t until a couple days later that Blaine finally manages to sit down with his former aide for a cup of tea. They’ve been regulars at the Jade Dragon since first moving to Republic City, so it doesn’t take long for them to be guided up to the private rooms on the second floor.

They say that sitting on the Council makes one age twice as quickly; Blaine thinks that he can see a touch of that in Wes’ eyes.

But there’s fire there, too.

“So how are things?” Blaine asks, once they’ve finally taken their first sips of tea.

A small smile curves at Wes’ lips before he tilts his cup back further, draining it and placing the cup quietly back down on the table. Without pause, Blaine reaches for the teapot and pours again, filling Wes’ cup nearly to the brim. Wes taps twice on the table.

“As expected, there’s still a massive amount of upheaval in the political circles. I’m pretty sure that I’m the least popular Councilmember to date among the upper class, but the interesting thing is that I’ve seen a lot of grassroots support. It’s starting conversations left undiscussed for decades, ever since Councilman Sokka stepped down,” Wes considers, blowing gently at the steam unfurling from his cup. “I guess both of us expected that, but watching everything unfold is entirely different. There haven’t been any riots yet, but there are young individuals stepping up everywhere and speaking their part about the political process.”

Although it all sounds hopeful, Blaine can’t help but wonder how much Wes is tempering his words. The tone reminds him a bit of how they used to speak, Wes taking care of all the dirty business before ever bringing concerns to Blaine’s desk.

He feels a distance building between them again.

Tapping the lip of his cup, Blaine glances up again.

“Are you having fun?”

The question takes Wes by surprise, his lips falling agape before he corrects the expression, smile softer than before.

“I think that the job is very fulfilling. And I know I wouldn’t have had a chance to step into this role were it not for you.”

Blaine smiles.

“I know I’ve been stressed, and I haven’t even had time to congratulate you on your win in the semifinal round—”

“—Wes, you really don’t have to say anything. I know I’ve been difficult, but I feel like I can’t apologize too much if it’s gotten us here.”

With a laugh, Wes nods. “You may have a point.”

A knock on their door sounds, and Blaine looks up in time to see a server hesitantly approaching the both of them. On her arm perches a dragonhawk, quietly setting its feathers before offering one of its feet, a small slip of paper tied to the leg.

“My apologies, sirs,” the server stammers, red in the face and glancing shyly at the both of them. “But we received an urgent message for Mister Blaine Anderson.”

Nervously glancing Wes’ way, Blaine gingerly unties the note from the bird and presses it flat over their table.

_Okay, I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I had dinner with my dad last night and somehow he got the idea in his head that he needs to meet you today at practice. Sorry!!! I wanted to make sure you knew so that it wouldn’t be a surprise. — Kurt_

Rubbing at his forehead, Blaine laughs, bracing himself against the table as he slumps back in his seat, face quickly turning red. Concerned, Wes lifts himself from his chair.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Blaine replies, breathing deeply and offering up the note for Wes to read. “It just hit me that I never thought my biggest problems would involve meeting the father of the man I’m dating.”

Wes skims the note, then shakes his head.

“Sometimes I envy you, Blaine.”

-

Even though Blaine doesn’t closely resemble either of his parents, he can’t help but picture Kurt’s father in his mind as being some tall, slim man with a severe face. On occasion, Kurt’s offered stories about growing up with a single parent, but none of them leave Blaine feeling prepared for whoever it is that’s insisting on meeting him during practice, of all things. He spends the morning fretting over his wardrobe, wondering if he should wear something more debonair on the way to the gym, or if doing so would make him seem ever more the frivolous kid that the press likes to paint him as.

In his indecision, Blaine sticks with what he knows, simple linens and warm red hues.

(He might have spent a bit of time steaming them smooth, though.)

What he isn’t prepared for is a broad smile, the only similarity between father and son being a clear, committed enthusiasm that shines in the blue of their eyes.

“So you’re the one keeping my son in the city,” Burt says as he shakes Blaine’s hand, grip firm. “I feel like I should be thanking you.” 

Blaine tenses, nervous smile stuttering slightly when Burt reaches around to clap his other hand on Blaine’s shoulder. What has Kurt told him? 

“Don’t listen to him,” Kurt says, flushed high on his cheeks. “Seriously, don’t.” 

Burt chuckles, and Kurt shoots him a glare with no real heat behind it. Blaine feels like he’s missing something. 

“I...” 

“This one’s the politician, right?” Burt asks, tilting his head. 

“So they say,” Kurt replies with a wave of his hand. “You’d never know. He can’t seem to string a sentence together half of the time.” 

“Not anymore, sir,” Blaine says, once he’s finally found his words. “And it seems I turned in my way with words along with my resignation.” He smiles at Kurt, trying to carry the expression over even as Burt laughs again. “Well, Republic City is lucky to have Kurt. He’s a very talented healer.” 

“And he’s not too bad in the arena, either,” Puck adds as he heads into the locker room to change. 

Kurt seems to preen under the attention, but his expression is still restrained, smile tight. “I’ve never been one to settle for being good at just one thing.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to it.” Burt pats Blaine once more on the shoulder. “Those Mooselions don’t stand a chance.” 

Blaine watches Burt leave, eyebrows raised as Kurt settles behind him, grabbing onto his shoulders and offering a slight shake.

“I think he likes you.”

-

With the match drawing close, Blaine tries to stamp down on the concerns coursing through his mind, but there’s one prevalent thought that he can’t quite bite back.

“I never knew you were planning on leaving,” he remarks, flames fizzling out in the palm of his hand. 

Kurt puts out the small embers and takes Blaine’s hand in his own. 

“Well, it was always the plan, but—” 

“It isn’t because of me, is it?” 

Even as Kurt smiles, Blaine feels his chest tighten, needing reassurance as Kurt takes his other hand and squeezes them both.

“No, Blaine. It’s not because of you. I... think people need me here,” Kurt admits, his tone steady and sure. “There are so many people in the city without access to healing, and I’m hoping I can make a difference. The South Pole has Master Katara. No matter how much I would love to return for good, I know I can make more of a difference here, that I can _learn_ more here. And as much as I don’t like thinking about Master Katara’s time coming to an end, someday she won’t be around anymore. Wherever I end up, I want to help people as much as I can.”

It’s still catches Blaine off guard, the fact that Kurt’s formed such personal bonds with the people Blaine’s read about in history books. Most of the time, he tells Blaine stories of growing up in the South Pole, spending time at Katara and Avatar Aang’s home, like vignettes from a storybook painting a perfect picture. Nostalgic. But seeing Kurt talk like this about growth and the needs of an entire people seizes Blaine by the heart as he glances down at their hands, brushing his thumb along Kurt’s palm.

Before he can reply, Kurt tugs them both to the edge of the apartment. Somewhere below, Puck’s probably strolling down the streets, bags of food in hand, but for now it’s quiet, and Blaine can’t help the slight catch of his breath as he glances over the city, lights twinkling in the night.

“Besides, I’d hate to give up this kind of view,” Kurt admits, tongue in cheek.

Wordlessly, Blaine leans to the side, resting his forehead against Kurt’s temple.

-

_Former Councilman Sokka spoke out today at a press conference in Republic City, throwing his support behind new Council Elect, Wesley Sung. Sokka claims a nonbender perspective is needed on the council. Public opinion is still split on Sung’s recent appointment. Will Sokka’s endorsement pulling more support over to Sung?_

-

It’s the final match of the season and Blaine feels like his bones won’t stop rattling from the nerves. Off to the side, Puck lets Sugar attend to him, her jeweled spritzer filled with some overly scented cologne that spreads through the locker room. Emma is nothing more than a flurry of red hair as she goes back and forth, alerting them of all the media outlets keeping a watch on the game. Beiste stops in on occasion to drop off food, most of which sits off on a table to the side, picked at most by Burt, who weaves in and out to loudly proclaim how proud he is of his son.

Were he not so tense, Blaine might find it comical.

But what his thoughts continue circling back to has nothing to do with the game. Minutes pass, but he can’t contain himself any longer, articles from the latest issue of the newspaper crinkling in his fist as he stands up, tugging Kurt to the side of the room.

“What’s wrong?” asks Kurt, eyes wide in surprise as they settle into the corner, mostly obscured by shadow. In the background, the crowd roars.

“You mentioned something earlier, about wanting to make a difference here,” Blaine says in a rushed breath, dropping the newspaper to the side as he grabs onto Kurt’s arms to anchor himself. His face feels flushed, overly warm. “The more I think about it, the more I realize that’s what I want too.”

Kurt frowns, blinking in confusion. “Are you... regretting not joining the Council?” 

“Of course not,” Blaine says firmly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t meant to be. I think it was always supposed to be Wes. There’s other ways to change things, I just have to figure out which way is best for me.” His gaze drops to the floor. “Wes really thinks I’ve made a mess of things.” 

“Sometimes you have to stir things up to get any sort of result,” Kurt points out with a grin, raising a hand to Blaine’s cheek and brushing his hand down the line of Blaine’s jaw.

Just as Kurt starts to lean in, the speakers flip on, music blaring over the system.

Kurt smiles apologetically, and Blaine feels his shoulders relaxing at last. 

“And now for the matchup you all have been waiting for, the Republic City Dragonhawks vs. the Ba Sing Se Mooselions. The stakes have never been higher. This will be one for the ages, folks.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and lets him lead them both to the platform, with Puck not far behind.

**END BOOK ONE.**


End file.
